


In the Darkness

by scathach124



Series: Vampires of Downton [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Character Turned Into Vampire, F/M, Gothic, Horror, Romance, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-23 15:51:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 59,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2553170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scathach124/pseuds/scathach124
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A four hundred year old vampire, Matthew Crawley has always lived in the shadows. Arriving at Downton, he is determined to keep his true nature secret, but a visit from a Turkish gentleman is the beginning of a horrific string of events that leaves unimaginable results — and it begins with Lady Mary undergoing a terrifying transformation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my remedy for the S3 end, because as we all bloody well know, *somebody* couldn't stay alive. But it's a bit of the odd way of going around things because ... well, in case you haven't already put two and two together, Matthew's still dead, in a sense. Closer to undead, really. And pretty soon, the same thing is going to happen to Mary, so that balances everything out.
> 
> Since I wrote this years ago really quickly while I was under a crap ton of pain medication after a surgery, I went back and put this through a major rewrite – I'm much more satisfied with it now. This leans more towards gothic horror writing than romance, and it does get pretty gory, so if you can't deal with PG-13 depictions of blood and violence, don't read. Otherwise, hope you enjoy it!

The mist settled over Manchester like a thick grey cloak. A pestilence of darkness spread out into the city, so impenetrable that the glowing street-lamps could hardly be perceived through the fog. The ominous calm was broken by the solemn tones of the old cathedral bells announcing midnight, followed by the distant peal of thunder from far off. High in the night sky, where the tiny stars were shrouded in the grey mist, the large black bat was nothing more than a silhouette against the faint light of the moon.

Luck was on his side tonight, Matthew thought with relief as he spied the open window. Tonight, he would not have to scratch and claw at glass panes, waiting for his entranced victim to let him in, nor snatch unwitting prey from the streets. On his last night in Manchester, he would rather not have to take those measures just to feed. He’d done such acts plenty of times – it was second nature to him – but he always felt more of a monster when he bewitched his prey to rise from their beds to let in a creature of the night.

Swiftly and soundlessly, he flew into the house, changing from a bat to a human-like figure in only a few seconds. In absolute silence, he walked to the side of the bed and looked down at the youthful visage, upon which a sliver of moonlight shone. She was alone, deep in sleep, quite oblivious to the fact that she was being watched intently. She was young, rosy-cheeked and healthy, simply brimming with life.

With his pale hands, Matthew brushed away her brown hair and exposed her neck, the veins under the skin well pronounced and visible to him. The blood flowing through those veins smelled sweet to him, in the same way that humans found the aroma of lavender to be pleasant. The scent alone enticed him, turning his eyes from icy blue to red, as dark as the blood he was desperate to consume. He ran his tongue over his fangs at the thought of doing so, soon.

The young woman shifted slightly, but she stayed asleep, locked within her dream. It was Matthew’s intense control over her mind that kept her from waking up. He knew she would not wake up while he was here; no human could override his hypnotism once he had control over the mind. He knew well how to manipulate the brain of a human. Over the years he had learned how to cause the least amount of pain possible, how not to become so intoxicated with a victim’s blood that he drained them entirely of life. Controlling his thirst in the presence of humans, however, was an eternal struggle. Though he had accepted the fact of his vampirism centuries before, not a single night passed when Matthew did not wish to be human for just one day more. To exist without the burden of his barbaric thirst was his greatest desire, yet unattainable.

His victim was restless; she moved beneath the sheets, sighing, as if trying to rip away from her dreaming. Whatever was happening in her head, Matthew was sure it was not pleasant. He felt a twinge of guilt for keeping the woman trapped in a nightmare. He stroked her soft skin to calm her, careful not to scratch her with his sharp nails. Though he no longer dreamed, he remembered nightmares that had woken him as a child, and the horrific visions he had shortly after his transformation. Those visions still came to mind sometimes whenever he read of murder in the newspapers.

Matthew placed his hands upon the woman’s shoulders to keep her still as he bent down to her neck. Her ambrosial blood pulsed beneath her flesh, calling out to Matthew, tempting him to give in to his wicked instincts. He grazed her skin with his sharp teeth, running his tongue over the carotid, almost tasting the blood flowing through the large vein. The longer he hesitated, the more he had to suppress the urge to dig his fangs into the woman and rip out her throat. He breathed heavily, his red eyes fixated on his sleeping victim.

Finally, Matthew bit into her, hard.

Fresh blood flowed into his mouth, gushing out quickly in two long streams. Immediately he registered the taste, feeling his body react to further indulge. He pressed his lips firmly against the woman’s neck as he sucked at the wound, at last giving in to his demonic urge. He hated causing pain, albeit briefly, but even so, he enjoyed the satisfaction that came with drinking the rich red blood of humans. The fiery sweetness gave him sincere pleasure, the only pleasure he lived for, the pleasure he needed to remain sane. There was nothing else that could quench his thirst, nothing that would give him as much gratification as feeding off an unwitting mortal. It tasted of nothing that a human would understand: it was both passion and fear, superior to the finest wines and sweeter than life itself.

Matthew heard the woman beneath him moan a little, but he paid her no heed. She would not awaken, even now whilst she served host to a blood-hungry parasite. All traces of humanity were momentarily lost as the woman’s veins appeased his ravenous thirst. For a few moments he remained attached to his victim, sucking her blood, savouring the taste while he could. The time would come when he would no longer need to take any, for he did not drain humans, nor even take more than he needed to survive with. Only that small part of his conscience remained while he was engulfed in his midnight feast.

He eventually drew away from the bleeding neck, his need fulfilled. The woman, still fast asleep, looked somewhat paler but she would not be too out of sorts in the morning. The punctures in her throat would heal, and she would never think that a vampire had feasted on her in the night.

Matthew breathed in the lingering aroma deeply, red fluid dripping from his mouth and coating his lips. Slowly coming back to reality, he backed away from the bed. Blood lined the inside of his mouth and painted the tips of his fangs. A small red rivulet ran down his chin. He was with strength again, the warmth of the human’s blood spreading through him. His last night here had been pleasant enough; he was satisfied for now, and would be for a short time.

Manchester's denizens would no longer be prey to Matthew's thirst; tomorrow, he was headed for a new place. A place called Downton Abbey.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted this on fanfiction.net, but I did a little bit of tweaking here and there, and added some missing scenes. This version does not include the preview to the next part of this series, however.
> 
> The rest of the chapters will be posted soon :)


	2. The Horrors of the Curse

 

The Turkish guest was engaged in conversation with Lady Mary yet again, and Matthew’s feelings of animosity towards Kemal Pamuk heightened further. He was a polite foreign gentlemen, full to bursting with charisma and courtesy, and he was proving to be a favourite with Lady Mary. The two of them were smiling whilst they chatted, the matters of their talk obscured by the sounds surrounding them.

Kemal Pamuk had arrived in time to join the hunt earlier that day, and since then he and the young Lady Mary had been near to inseparable. She seemed very smitten with him, a fact that was evident by the convivial manner with which she smiled at him. The two of them acted as if they were in their own world situated at the end of the table, interacting like childhood friends, and there was hardly a hint of brusqueness on Lady Mary’s part. It was strange for Matthew to behold, for it was not like her to be so interested in a man, especially one who was not of the English gentry. After all, it was no secret that she hadn’t thought well of Matthew, simply because he had no title of his own. However, she acted towards Mr Pamuk as though he were some wealthy, eligible duke, completely ignoring the remainder of the dinner party.

But as soon as he had laid eyes on the man, Matthew had come to the conclusion that there was more to the guest than was visible on the surface.

With Mr Pamuk’s obvious charm, not to mention his handsomeness, it was small wonder he had attracted the attentions of Lady Mary. It was a surprise that the other girls hadn’t completely fallen for him. But Matthew could sense there was something abnormal about him, and it had little to do with him not being English. The man had a strange glint in his eye, a close resemblance to a mischievous child when he spots something of interest. His bronze skin looked bloodless, even in the golden candlelight, though Mr Pamuk hardly seemed ill. But while Matthew could detect the aroma of blood that enveloped most humans like an aura, there had been a stranger scent that he had discerned on Kemal’s figure when he passed the man. It had brought Matthew a sensation of a past life, from his days at the treacherous Tudor court, but it had been so long since then that he could not recall what the scent meant. He was certain, however, that it was not the same as the smell of human blood that was emanating from everyone else in the dining room.

When the last dish was cleared from the table, the party filed into the drawing room. Lady Mary’s infatuation with Mr Pamuk did not waver, even with Matthew and Evelyn Napier standing in her little circle. Matthew took the opportunity to scrutinize the Turkish gentleman further, noting uncomfortably how he kept his eyes cemented on Lady Mary, and his pure white teeth were exposed behind his lips curled into a smirk. Matthew had to concentrate hard on hiding his animosity for the Turk, a task that was as necessary as controlling his ever-increasing bloodlust. Since coming to Downton, maintaining his human facade had proven to be of vital importance, though it was still difficult at times, especially now when he was encompassed by a multitude of humans. Tonight, however, his priority was suppressing his antipathy towards Mr Pamuk’s attentions to Lady Mary. Kemal was surely hiding something dangerous underneath his genial words and gestures.

After some exchange of the events of the afternoon (primarily between him and Lady Mary), Pamuk excused himself, disappearing into an adjoining room. Lady Mary watched him pass from sight, and it was clear even to Evelyn Napier that she wanted nothing more than to be by his side once again. Matthew watched with displeasure as she followed Pamuk through to the room he had gone into, leaving him alone with Mr Napier, who was feeling similarly rejected. Matthew decided that nothing good could come out of them being in a room alone together, particularly if Kemal Pamuk did indeed have dangerous things in store.

He struck up a conversation with Edith, thanking her for taking him to see the churches. She was standing close to the door Lady Mary had just passed through, and despite the chatter that resonated in the drawing room, Matthew could distinctly hear the two lovebirds talking.

There was an inquiry from Kemal Pamuk about a painting, followed by Lady Mary’s indecisive answer. Then, Matthew heard something he wasn’t sure about. It sounded like a rough movement, interwoven with the folds of Lady Mary’s skirt rustling. Matthew thought about rushing in to investigate the reason behind the suspicious sounds, but just then, Lady Mary whispered Mr Pamuk’s name in surprise.

“Let me come to you tonight, please!” he said breathlessly.

“I can’t think what I have said that has led you to believe –” Lady Mary said quickly, in total bewilderment.

“Please! I don’t know when we’ll meet again, So let it be tonight,” Mr Pamuk pleaded.

Matthew did not catch Lady Mary’s next words as he answered something Edith had asked, but he saw the dark-haired woman re-enter the drawing room, looking slightly aghast, and he knew she had rebuked the Turk’s advances. She was not one to break the rules, so cold and careful she was. Matthew wished he and Lady Mary were friendly with each other enough to be allowed to at least ask if she was alright, but as they were not, he would not hound the poor girl.

Lady Mary avoided most company for the rest of the evening, and she tried not to watch Mr Pamuk as he made his exit and went upstairs. He passed Matthew on his way out of the drawing room, and though Matthew did not see it clearly, somehow he perceived the cunning smile on the Turk’s face.

 

* * *

 

That night, Mary lay in her bed with an open book, trying to ignore the various achesspread throughout her body. She had spent a fair portion of the day atop Diamond, riding alongside the hunting party; never before had she spent so long on a galloping horse. Only now was the pain settling in, just as she was hoping to rest undisturbed. She hoped that Mama would not force her to do any more hunting, or even just a short ride, for a long while.

It had been such a lovely day up until after dinner. She had encountered the sociable Evelyn Napier, but it was the prepossessing Mr Pamuk that had attracted most of her attention. She had ridden alongside him for most of the hunt, and she had not objected to his invitation to detach from the main party and enjoy the rougher countryside alone. Up and down green hills and even over a high fence they had gone, although Mary’s soreness was the price to pay for such amusement. She had remained by his side even after the hunt concluded, sitting next to him at dinner. With rapacious fascination she had listened to his stories, held captive as he explained the histories of the middle east as if he had lived through those times.

Every time she thought of him, she was seized with a mixture of enthralment and mystification. Despite being by his side for most of the day, Mary had to admit that the Turkish gentleman was still somewhat of an enigma. She had been wholly unprepared for how handsome and charming he turned out to be, and she had imagined herself falling under a spell as soon as she laid eyes on the prince-like being. It was just as well that he had taken an apparent liking to her in return.

And yet, Mary hardly knew a thing about him. Their talk had been chiefly about their respective homelands and Mary’s current disposition as a woman waiting to walk down the aisle, but even after such intimate exchanges, he remained a stranger.

And his attempt to kiss her … Mary was not sure what she was supposed to make of it. That last encounter with him had left her puzzled. How could he act so cordially with her, then push her against the wall, pressing his lips against her face as if such a gesture was romantic? She could not mention the incident to anyone, not even Mama, and her last words to Pamuk had been baffled rebuffing. _It’s better to pretend it never happened_ , she thought to herself. Hopefully, Pamuk would wake up with some better sense and apologize to her in the morning.

It was pitch black outside now, and the lamp beside Mary’s bed cast but a soft flickering glow, strong enough only to illuminate the pages of her book. Mary heard the muted howling of the wind, but that was the only sound she could discern – the house was silent like death. Even now, there would be but few servants awake. Finally, there was some peace. She remembered the book in front of her and resumed reading, trying hard to make out the small print in the faulty lamplight.

She heard the handle on her bedroom door turn, and she jumped a bit as she saw, across the darker part of the room, someone enter. She half expected Anna, but the person was taller, darker, with eyes that glittered like onyx. It was Kemal who stood there in the shadow-enveloped corner.

As quick as lightning, Mary leaped out of her bed, grabbing the comforter and holding it close to her chest. She could not disguise her shock. Kemal was here, in her room! As he stepped closer to the bed, she saw he was wearing only a dressing gown, his chest barely concealed. It was obvious in his expression why he had come here, and Mary felt her heart beat through her nightgown.

He stood still, glaring at Mary. She couldn’t fish out anything to say. Her mind was reeling. How had he found her? Had somebody pointed out her room to him? It had crossed her mind that Kemal would attempt something like this after his first kiss – but he was gentleman, albeit a Turkish one, and his reputation would be shattered alongside her own. Surely he should have had the common sense not to seek out her company alone.

“You must be mad!” she whispered.

“I am,” Kemal whispered in response. “I am in the grip of madness.”

He stepped forward, and instinctively Mary drew back. Kemal was intractable, his eyes penetrating through hers. He looked _hungry_ , lusting for something that Mary was unwilling to relinquish.

“Every part of you is singing to me,” he said sultrily. “Your life, your soul … you are everything I’ve longed for … why are you resisting me?” he asked when Mary stepped back again, clutching the comforter like a shield.

Mary was disgusted by his words, yet his voice had the power to beguile her; she felt her conscience weaken as his voice tickled her ears, but she would not be so easily desecrated. She forced herself back to vigilance.

“Please leave at once, or I’ll …” Mary hesitated. She had started strong, but as he continued to stare her down her mind relaxed once more, and she lost her words. Kemal’s shining eyes mocked her as he, derisively, asked, “Or you’ll what?”

Mary swallowed nervously. “I’ll scream.”

She wanted to scream now, but her panic constricted in her throat – she did not have the courage to. Who would hear her anyway? She moved closer to the lamp, as the light gave her some form of security: she did not want to be in the darker area of the room with Kemal.

He gave a little laugh. “No, you won’t,” he said, as if he was aware that she could not. “I won’t hurt you too much – I promise.”

The light from the lamp dimmed slightly, and Mary cursed herself for not addressing the issue before. If it went out, she would not see him coming – it was so very dark while the light was out. She shivered, trying to draw the comforter closer to her.

“It’s always quite painful, of course,” Kemal continued, inching inexorably closer. “For you, though, I’ll try not to make it too disagreeable. And you’ll feel pleasure at the same time, the sweetest pleasure anyone can give you. I can give you a new life, a better life, one you will assimilate to quite rapidly. So what is a little pain when all that awaits you is power, potential that no human can achieve?”

Mary was bewildered at his words. She was suddenly very, very scared. “What do you mean?”

Kemal stepped closer to her, but Mary could not recoil anymore. She was trapped between him and the bedroom wall – there was nowhere she could run. She would only be free if his insanity would recede and he began his retreat. But he would not – that much was obvious in the way he looked down at her, reaching toward her hand to release the comforter pressed against her breasts.

“Did you not tell me that you desired another life? You covet liberation from this mortal life. You dream of a different world, where _you_ are the one who has power over others—”

“I did not say—!” Mary interjected.

“But you say so in your mind,” Kemal said. “You cannot deny what you truly want. I can give it to you.”

His fingers closed around hers, and Mary could not suppress a shudder. It was like the hand of a corpse, icy and bloodless. She could feel how preternaturally strong he was. The way he gripped her hand made her believe that he could splinter any one of her bones.

“You are the sort of woman I want to be with,” Kemal said, his mouth curved voluptuously. “To spend an eternity with you would be any man’s dream, but I intend to make it my reality.”

“Heavens, is this a proposal?” Mary could not imagine what else this could be. What did he mean to do with her? Something was making her heart beat faster, but once more she felt her mind surrendering to Kemal’s voice.

“Not exactly,” he said, a faint smile forming. Mary glimpsed his white teeth, specifically the canine teeth that looked as sharp as a blade. “At least, it would not be a union in the sense that most people are familiar with.”

The broken lamp suddenly flickered out, and the room was enveloped in shadow. It seemed colder now, with Kemal so close to Mary. There was something very wrong now, something – dare she think it – unnatural. Mary could feel fear closing in around her, a horror that she had never experienced before. She sensed how alone she was, that there was no one else in the house. She was cornered, completely at his mercy. It had been a grave mistake to invite his attention. God, why had she allowed herself to be seduced by him? She remained standing frozen, unable to scream or run away.

Before she could object, Kemal kissed her on the lips. His skin was as cold as stone, the same dead feeling as his fingers. Despite her distress, Mary did not move away. She wanted to push him back, to fight him off in any way she could, but her body disobeyed her. Her arms holding the comforter relaxed, and it fell to the floor as her eyelids began to obscure her vision. Kemal drew back, and Mary could see his sharp teeth again. She was surely growing ill in her head, for she believed his canines had grown a little longer.

“Before this night is over, you will belong to me,” he said. “You’ll be unlike any human – perhaps unlike any other creature of the night. The time will soon come when we are reunited again, and together we’ll live through each and every night, feeding off of lesser beings!”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying!” Mary cried. “Leave me, now!”

Before Mary could draw in another breath, he had her gathered up in his arms, cradling her like a small child. Kemal held her tight; she could not thrash and scream as she desperately wanted to do so. He smiled again, and Mary gasped. There was no denying it – his teeth _had_ grown longer and excessively pointed, and his smile was made all the more horrific.

“How – what’s happening – what are you?” Panic was flowing throughout Mary’s body, even though she was as limp as a rag doll. She could not surrender to this monster, could not allow it to kill her or do what it had promised to do. But Mary’s fear and confusion had paralysed her. She was unprepared for what would come next.

Before she could register in her mind what such sharp teeth indicated, he had pushed her back onto the bed. Kneeling on top of her, he clasped his hands tightly around her wrists. His grip felt like needles in her skin. With a start she realized that the needles _were_ in fact his nails, long and sharpened to a point. How had she not seen them before?

Darkness was seeping into her mind – or was it this monster’s influence over her? She knew she would not be able to escape. The mere thought of death, of dying so horrifically, made her tremble underneath him.

“No … no,” she murmured, feeling her strength fading fast. Kemal released one of her wrists to place a thin finger on her lips.

“You may as well be quiet, my dear,” he said. “There is nothing to worry about. Did I not promise you that I would be gentle?”

His voice revealed an underlying darkness, and it sent a chill down Mary’s spine. What was he going to do to her? Kill her? He held her down firmly, with an uncanny strength that made her feel even weaker. Her eyelids began to droop, but she forced them open. She saw a devilish expression on Kemal’s face, like a madman about to murder a little girl, his dark eyes becoming the colour of blood.

Suddenly, despite her fright, Mary retrieved one final ounce of strength. Instinctively, she tried to wrestle away from him, but he held her down on the bed. Any action she took proved futile.

“If you don't fight, you won't feel a thing,” Kemal said, and Mary's stomach lurched violently when saw those long teeth once again, preparing to rip into her flesh. He leaned towards her throat, his fangs bared cruelly.

“Please … no, don’t!” was her last cry.

He bit hard into her neck, and Mary felt a pain so great she thought she might black out. There was nothing pleasurable about this, for Kemal was as sadistic as a bloodthirsty animal. She groaned and cried as she felt him suck the blood pouring from her neck, his cold lips pressed fast against her flesh. _Oh God, please make it stop, please!_ her thoughts shouted inside her. She wanted to scream out loud until someone heard, but the most she could muster was a gasp. She was too light-headed to move away as Kemal's cold hands embraced her and pressed his body tightly against hers. Her strength was leaving her along with her blood, and Mary felt weaker than ever in her life. How long would it be before she eventually died? This could not be real; it could only be a nightmare. She prayed for the end to come soon, so she could finally escape this terrifying dream.

It seemed like hours before he finally tore away from her, though it had only taken a few minutes to drain her almost to the point of unconsciousness. Mary felt her heart beat violently in her ears, trying to remain alive, but every passing second it beat slower and slower. The darkness of the room hindered her vision, but she could still see Kemal kneeling over her, his blood painted on his chin and dripping down his chest. She could feel death closing in on her as her bedroom seemed to spin around her. Even so, she remained in a state of paralysed terror, finally realizing what had just happened.

Through half closed eyes she saw Kemal press a long nail to his own wrist. His cold skin was against her lips, and she tasted something – blood, she realized. It flowed out in a long stream that dripped onto her tongue, warm and luscious as nectar. She could not keep herself from lapping the blood spurting from the self-inflicted wound. It was as if she was possessed. The taste was nothing like she had ever experienced – in fact, it was almost sweet – and she drank as if she had been deprived of water her entire life. She did not notice Kemal's hellish red smile.

Even as she drank the blood, fatigue – or was it death? – began to overtake her. Kemal drew back his wrist, and gave her one final kiss, licking up the rivulets of blood that were running down her chin. Her limbs slackened and her heart began its final, languid pounding.

He was speaking to her now, slowly and sweetly, though she could hardly hear him.

“When I saw you earlier, I knew I had to have you. I decided that within a moment. I’m sorry that I must leave before I can see you as the beautiful creature you’re meant to be, but we will see each other very soon.”

He was suddenly gone, as if the shadows had swallowed him up.

The taste of blood was the last thing Mary knew before she collapsed in a dead faint.

 

* * *

 

Daisy, the diminutive scullery maid, was desperately trying to keep calm and quiet as she worked on the fire in Lady Mary’s bedroom. There was always an eerie atmosphere in here, as anyone would expect from a centuries-old house. Every day, in the early hours, Daisy herself saw the shadows that she imagined moving, perhaps the echoes of spectres floating about.

But this early morning, specifically in Lady Mary’s bedroom, something was different. Daisy was certain she was just being paranoid, but she could not shake the feeling that she was being watched. It was dark, so dark that Daisy was afraid to knock something over and wake the family up. It was colder than normal, and the air made her shiver as soon as she entered the room.

In the middle of her work, Daisy paused, listening for any movement. Normally, she was as quiet as a church mouse, but when the night was so silent it seemed she was making a racket just by cleaning the fireplaces. She stalled for a moment, wondering if she was in fact making too much noise. Daisy stood up and checked the bed to make sure Lady Mary was still fast asleep.

She wasn’t in the bed.

The sheets and blankets were wrinkled, and the pillows had given the impression that the bed was occupied, and Daisy had believed it to be. But Lady Mary was not where she was supposed to be now.

Daisy looked at the bed with wide eyes. How had she not seen it when she entered just a few moments before? She was sure Lady Mary had been sleeping soundly there when she had started on the fires. The young girl was still for a moment, her ears tuned to catch any sound in the house. Not a soul was supposed to be awake except for Daisy, but the feeling – the hunch that something was watching her – remained.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something shining, a glimmer of colour. Daisy stood, motionless with shock, when she saw two beads of red in the darkest corner of the room, near the door. All Daisy wanted to do was get out of the room, but she could not stop staring at the red dots, bright as a glowing ruby, hypnotizing her. She could just see the silhouette of a person watching her, eyes fixated right at her.

“Who’s there?” Daisy whispered, almost too quietly for even her to hear.

Lady Mary emerged from the shadows, her arms lifeless at her sides, her steps listless. Daisy had only seen the woman on a handful of occasions, but she knew that Lady Mary did not always look so _demonic._ She was deathly pale, red-eyed, and adorned with a face of undeniable evil. Daisy was shaking and couldn’t even say a faint “milady?” Her only path of escape, the door, was being blocked off.

She stood rigid with fear as Lady Mary approached her, slowly but steadily. She outstretched her arms to the trembling girl, and Daisy stepped back, nearly tripping over her bucket.

“Don’t run!” Lady Mary hissed. She smiled, horrible white fangs protruding from her mouth. She looked every inch a terrifying monster, her blank eyes boring straight into Daisy’s. “Don’t leave me alone,” she rasped with dulcet viciousness.

There was nowhere Daisy could run. She had her back against the wall, and Lady Mary was only a few steps away. Her long, clawed fingers flexed as if readying to clutch her. She breathed heavily like an animal about to feast upon its helpless prey.

In an instant, Lady Mary’s hands grasped the naïve maid’s arms and pinned her firmly against the wall with inhuman strength. Daisy winced at the pressure that wrapped around her limbs like cold stone. Lady Mary opened her mouth full of sharp teeth close to her victim’s cheek. A gelid tongue snaked along Daisy’s cheekbone and down her neck, and she tried to pull away. Lady Mary held her immobile with even more force.

“Don’t go,” she whispered, a harsh utterance that came from her throat. “Let me … devour you.”

She plunged herself into the soft flesh of the neck. Daisy felt the creature suckle roughly from the wounds those sharp teeth had made. She whimpered pitifully, but her cries went ignored. The creature was too bent on savouring her blood. Its lips were latched around the open wound, and the tongue was lapping stray beads of crimson gore.

But it was only after a minute, after the creature had swallowed a few large gulps, that she became completely satiated. Its grip slackened and Daisy nearly fell to the floor in a swoon. The inhuman thing licked her lips clean, removing all traces of blood. She looked at Daisy, cowering against the wall, briefly considering another bite. But Daisy could see that she was exhausted from her short repletion, for her eyes were growing glassier, as if death was settling in.

She pressed a long-nailed finger to her lips, stepped towards the bed, and fell onto the sheets. Daisy stood rigid, gaping at the corpse-like figure of Lady Mary. The creature was as still as death, thoroughly gorged on blood.

Daisy left the bedroom, crying silently.

 

 

 


	3. Revelations

Suppressing a yawn, Anna opened the door to Lady Mary’s bedroom. In the dim morning light, she could see Lady Mary still fast asleep. Anna frowned a bit at the scene. The blankets were wrinkled substantially and Lady Mary was lying face down across the sheets instead of underneath them. Considering that she often slept as gracefully as a princess under a spell, this was a queer sight.

_Poor girl_ , Anna thought. She knew how sore Lady Mary was going to be due to yesterday’s hunt. She considered allowing her to rest for some hours more and bringing up her hot tea later. _Then again,_ she said to herself, _she won’t like to miss breakfast with Mr Pamuk_. Anna clearly saw how infatuated Lady Mary had become with the Turkish gentleman. Even Anna thought Mr Pamuk was a good-looking man, quite unlike any Englishman she had ever seen. There was not much time between breakfast and the departure of his train, and certainly Lady Mary would take every chance available to be with her esteemed guest.

Going by how Lady Mary hadn’t even stirred a muscle since she entered the room, Anna understood that she was going to need a lot of help waking up. She opened the curtains wide and let in the sun.

The morning brilliance filled the room, casting out the darkness, touching the figure of the sleeping woman. Her eyes, red as hellfire, flew open, disturbed and brimming with anger. Garish sunlight flooded her vision, a hideous glare that seared her eyes and seemed to burn her flesh. She threw her arms over her face and hissed, the horrid sound startling Anna. The maid whirled around to see Lady Mary, paler than ever before, shrink away from the light reaching through the windowpanes. She cowered in the shadow on the opposite side of the room, and then, to Anna’s utmost surprise, swiftly crawled under the bed.

Anna stood in shock for a moment, unable to register what had just happened before her own eyes. Had … had she really just watched Lady Mary act like a wild animal, so violently reacting to the sunlight? Did she truly hear the hiss that resembled that of a cornered cat? What had happened during the night? Could this all be real?

Hesitantly, Anna got on her knees and pressed her cheek to the floor. There was half an inch of space between the carpet and the drape of the bed. The light did not reach down there, so it was too dark to see much … except for a small speck of red transfixed upon Anna. She could hear ragged breathing beneath the bed. Gingerly, she lifted part of the drape, hoping to get a better glimpse, but a thin stream of sunlight, so narrow that Anna did not notice it, shone down. Immediately, there was a strangled cry, and Anna let the drape fall back in place, but not before she caught sight of Lady Mary’s feverish face, tinged with pallor that should only belong on a corpse’s body. She had noticed that it were her eyes that were exuding the lurid red shine.

“Lady Mary!” she whispered. “Lady Mary, what are you doing? Do you feel ill?”

More ragged breathing was her only answer.

Quickly, Anna stood up, trying to make sense of it all. She failed, and ran out of the bedroom, calling for Gwen who was dusting the railing.

“Anna?” The ginger-haired maid looked up. “What – you’re so white! You look like you saw a ghost.”

Anna placed a hand on the rail to steady herself. Her entire body was shaking. “No, not a ghost,” she managed to say, her voice quivering. “But I think I’ve seen something worse.”

 

* * *

 

 

An hour later, Anna and Gwen entered Lady Mary’s bedroom, carrying thick curtains in their arms.

“I-I don't know about this,” stuttered Gwen. She was eyeing the underside of the bed, clearly afraid. Anna was just as unsure as to what Lady Mary would possibly do with them in the room, if she was planning to do anything at all. As far as either of them knew, she had not moved out from under the bed – both of them heard her shift slightly, reacting to the presence of two people nearby.

Anna drew a shaky breath. “It’s just a theory, but we have to make this room dark as possible, so she'll come out and Dr Clarkson can take a look at her.”

Gwen shook her head. “That doesn't make any sense. Why would she all of a sudden be afraid of the sun? She can’t be ill, can she?”

Neither of them could fathom a guess. Anna remembered the small red glow under the bed that even now was watching them. Her hand shook as she and Gwen replaced the curtains as quickly as possible. Gwen was especially jumpy, and was trembling at any sound they made. They had only just finished when Dr Clarkson entered. By then the room was as dark as a tomb, but Lady Mary had not yet resurfaced.

Dr Clarkson waited a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, then frowned. “Where's Lady Mary?”

“Under the bed,” Anna answered, pointing.

“Under the bed?” Dr Clarkson repeated in disbelief.

Everyone heard the rustle below, a low growl. Gwen seemed to stop breathing and stiffened. Anna pushed her gently towards the door.

“You can go,” she whispered. As Gwen hurried to the safety of the servants’ quarters Anna bent down and called, quietly, “Lady Mary? Dr Clarkson is here. Will you come out?”

There was stillness for a second, than a long white hand emerged tentatively. Anna was strongly reminded of a skeleton, so pale and spindly the digits were. She noticed that the nails had grown significantly long and tapered off to a point. Surely that had not been the case yesterday, when Anna had helped her slide her satin gloves on.

Like a beast coming out from hibernation, Lady Mary emerged slowly, eyes darting around the room. She saw Dr Clarkson and Anna in front of her, and she stood up. Anna's heart stopped when she saw the savage smile, canines looking longer than usual.

_What could this be_? Anna thought.

“Lady Mary,” Dr Clarkson began, eyeing the peculiar teeth as well. “Lord Grantham sent for me. Will you allow me to take a look at you?”

Lady Mary’s eyes narrowed, their hue shifting darker, yet they remained a grisly red. Anna’s stomach dropped when she realized that Mary wasn’t breathing very much, or breathing at all. Her chest was no longer rising and falling, but Anna did not say anything. She figured Dr Clarkson had noticed this too.

“Milady,” Anna said with concern, and although those red irises levelled dubiously onto her, she continued, “let the doctor take a look at you. It won’t take long.”

Lady Mary’s eyes flickered from Anna to Dr Clarkson, as if calculating a surprise movement. As limp as a broken marionette, she stepped back and climbed on her bed, lying on her back with her arms at her sides. Her eyes closed serenely. She did not move as Dr Clarkson went to her side and touched her wrist, feeling her pulse. His brow furrowed. He moved his hand to different areas of her wrist, as if he was unsure where the pulsation was.

“Cover her up,” he ordered with urgency. “She's quite cold.”

Anna stepped closer to the bed and pulled the comforter over Lady Mary, who lay motionless as if turned to stone. The fact that she was not breathing was all the more evident, and the was she was lying gave the impression that she was a corpse.

“She’s not ... ?” Anna asked, voice faltering.

“No,” Dr Clarkson said, straightening. “But she appears to be extremely anaemic.”

He bent down again and touched the motionless figure again. Lady Mary's eyes opened abruptly, blazing with a demonic fury. Her arm shot up, spidery-fingers spread wide, reaching straight for Dr Clarkson's throat. What came from her own could only be described as a harpy-like screech, a moan signalling her want for sustenance. Both Dr Clarkson and Anna stumbled back, Anna with a hand clamped over her mouth, trying to hold back her scream of alarm. Lady Mary's snarl was raspy, her eyes shining as if on fire.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, the fury subsided. Her eyes closed and her hand dropped. She fell back onto the pillow, once again unmoving.

Anna and Dr Clarkson looked down at Mary with unease. Dr Clarkson was breathing heavily, and he took a few seconds to recover his courage and touch his patient again. Anna stayed by his side, ready to spring back if Lady Mary came round once more with such feral wrath. She did not move a muscle anymore, and the doctor made quick progress in his examination.

As diligent as he was, he however made one critical error: he had not placed his stethoscope over Lady Mary’s heart, and therefore had not ascertained that there was no heartbeat inside of her.

Perhaps it was due to his bafflement at his patient’s state, but Dr Clarkson was unable to diagnose a specific ailment. He resolved to tell Anna to bring her food every few hours to see if she wanted to eat and to keep a close eye on her condition. Anna nodded dutifully, but she was consciously refraining from inquiring about the redness she had seen in Lady Mary’s irises, and her elongated teeth. She knew Dr Clarkson had no explanation for those symptoms.

It was only his swift reflexes that had spared him. For if he hadn’t been so quick, Lady Mary would have pulled his neck down to her mouth, punctured his skin, and drained him on the spot.

 

* * *

 

 

Matthew met up with Lord Grantham outside of the large stone house. The earl was standing on the gravel walkway with his labrador, halting their walk briefly. His eyes were cast up at one of the windows of the second floor. Worry was etched quite well defined on his face.

Matthew and Lord Grantham shared the same family blood, though they were more distantly related than anyone believed. In his long life he had remained out of sight, the knowledge that his family still lived on giving him some ease. But nothing had prepared him for the letter that declared he was heir presumptive to the inheritance of the earldom and the Downton estate. How it had happened, Matthew could not venture a guess, but the flaw had gone unnoticed, and he was without any mechanism to refuse what he was to be granted.

It was ludicrous, and even more so precarious, as the new lifestyle he was expected to lead was not one he could so easily assimilate to. In spite of his own misgivings, Matthew knew that to disappear so soon after being contacted would arise suspicion, and possibly a pursuit, and the last thing he needed was someone poking about too closely into his life. From the moment he had been contacted (and how they had found him, Matthew would never fully comprehend that either), he had resigned to facing a new way of life.

“Is everything alright?” Matthew asked Lord Grantham. The labrador whined and stole closer to his master.

“Mary has taken ill,” Lord Grantham answered. He did not take his eyes off of Mary’s bedroom window as he spoke.

“How terrible,” Matthew said.

Lord Grantham nodded. “Yes, so unfortunate to fall ill like that, and so suddenly as well. She was in such high spirits with Mr Pamuk last night, as I am sure you noticed.”

Matthew tried not to roll his eyes at the mention of the name. Earlier that day, he had seen the car carrying the Turk and Evelyn Napier drive through the village toward the station. A smug, triumphant look had been imprinted on the Turk’s face, and his eyes had met Matthew’s with such ill feeling that Matthew feared Pamuk was aware of his supernatural nature.

“She was acting rather peculiar when she woke up,” Lord Grantham continued, turning to Matthew, “for when her maid came in to open the curtains, Mary did not seem to be able stand the sunlight. In fact, she crawled under her bed just so she wouldn’t see it!”

What he had just said sent a shock through Matthew. He could not have been more disturbed than if Lord Grantham had just announced the world was now at war. Did this mean – no, how could it be?

For the first few days after being turned from a human to an undead bloodsucker, Matthew had hid himself from all forms of light. The first time the sun’s brilliance had touched his skin, it had burned as if he put his hand on red-hot coals. It had taken a few days before he could even look at the flame of a candle, and it was some time before he could stand in the sunlight, albeit with most of his skin covered. Even now, the sun proved to be little better than a nuisance, and there was little wonder as to why he preferred darkness.

“The maids had to put up the heavy curtains in her room before she would come out. I hope Carson goes easy on them today, they must have been beside themselves with fright. I don’t think I would like to be in a room with someone watching me from underneath their bed, even my own daughter. It’s too bizarre for words,” Lord Grantham said.

“Has the doctor been to see her?” Matthew asked.

“Yes, but Dr Clarkson can only speculate. She appeared rather anaemic, but there was hardly a cut or scrape on her. Even though her neck is a bit bruised, that would not account for the blood loss, according to him. Frankly, apart from all that, she’s almost in perfect health. It’s mysterious, no doubt about that. But he says to keep her inside and check on her every so often.”

Of course, no one would place vampirism on the table, even if it were the only explanation. Only Matthew would understand the strange appearance of Lady Mary, why her eyes had given the impression that they were red ... how she had lunged for Dr Clarkson’s throat.

Matthew tried to comprehend the manner of the situation: his curse had befallen Mary. She was suffering through the same painful transformation just as he had, four hundred years before. She was turning into a cursed creature, slowly but surely, and it would be an agonizing transformation, physically and mentally. To endure horrific nightmares, hide from the sun, control a constant thirst for blood, and deal with the emotional trauma of becoming a vampire was something Matthew wouldn't wish on his worst enemies. Not even Mary, who considered him being the heir to the estate a joke, deserved something as cruel and permanent.

Never would he have imagined this to occur at Downton, an idyllic haven for the upper class, so far away from anything remotely preternatural. But now the evil within Matthew’s world was seeping through, its genesis marked by the birth of another creature such as himself. And that creature was the eldest daughter of the earl.

Matthew had very little doubt in his mind that Mr Pamuk was to blame for this maliciousness. The seductive entity that had entranced Mary had not, in fact, been human, as Matthew had suspected. How could he have not recognized it before? Well, Kemal certainly did not look like a vampire with his bronze skin. He must have hidden his red eyes and his fangs, as Matthew did during the day. The only other revealing attribute would be his hands. He looked at his own hands: his nails were long and sharpened to a point so that they resembled claws. It was the only characteristic which distinguished him from mortals that he could not conceal.

For much of his long life, Matthew had hid in the shadows, existing by night. He fed every few days and hardly went outside on cloudless days to avoid the crowds of people. He had lived in various places across England and even on the continent, hardly staying in one place for more than a decade. It was a lonely life, watching the crowds walk past, taking the blood of individuals, knowing that he would outlive them all. Nevertheless, it was the only life he was capable of living, and after so many centuries, he had grown rather accustomed to it.

At Downton, however, his solitary life had been irreversibly disrupted. He was forced to behave human, and such bearings were all but consigned to his past. Lord Grantham showed him around the estate and the tenant farms on bright days, and while Matthew had lived long enough to tolerate the sun when most of his skin was covered, he still felt very hot and uncomfortable. And the sun was not the only source of his agitation: sitting at their dining room table for the first few nights, Matthew believed that he was going to lose his self-control (not just with his thirst, but with the way the first footman and Lady Mary had treated him. They had acted as if he had no clue about the life of aristocrats, but of course he couldn't tell them he had survived the notorious Tudor court with his head still attached to his shoulders). But Matthew had kept his secret for four hundred years, and the moment he had arrived at Downton, he vowed he would do everything in his power to ensure his true nature remained his secret.

Now, that endeavour was on the brink of crumbling. Lady Mary was transforming into a vampire herself, and if they saw what she was becoming, would they recognize him as a creature of the night as well? Very soon, her skin would pale to the same bloodless colour as his, her hands would become claw-like, and her eyes would turn red when she caught the scent of human blood. Her knew her insatiable thirst paired with the numerous humans in her house would result in one of the servants, or perhaps one of her sisters, being bitten and quite possibly drained. And when she was calm enough to realize what was happening to her – who knew what would happen?

 

* * *

 

 

“Daisy? Daisy!”

Daisy jumped at Mrs Patmore’s shrill voice; she was used to being shouted at, but this time it had given her a rather unpleasant jolt.

“Are you going to start on the pudding soon, or would you rather wait until women have the vote?”

Daisy hadn’t realized she had been staring at the wall in front of her. The knife in her hand was poised over the vegetables she was supposed to be chopping.

Her mind was constantly wandering, forcing her to remember the horror of the previous night. Daisy was still not sure if it was a nightmare. Lady Mary’s red eyes watching her from the dark corner, coming closer, smiling with savage fangs, biting into her neck … Daisy had truly felt the pain of that bite. She did not recall waking up anywhere: her immediate memory afterwards was going about in a fog, continuing to light the fires. She ended up doing a shoddy job of it, as her hands had been trembling violently. But by the time the rest of the servants had woken up, the punctures on her neck had disappeared, leaving only a bruise. The sudden healing of the marks prevented Daisy from telling anyone what she had seen. She knew that they looked down on her, and if she mentioned to anyone what had happened to her in Lady Mary’s bedroom, they’d say it was her imagination. Oddly enough, she had overheard Anna informing Mrs Hughes that Lady Mary had contracted a strange illness overnight, and Daisy could not help but wonder if there was some connection between that illness and her ‘dream.’

“You’re all in a daze today, girl. You look like you saw a ghost,” Mrs Patmore said, checking a receipt.

“Maybe I did,” Daisy snapped back.

“Oh, now there’s a thought,” Mrs Patmore laughed.

The more Daisy thought about it, the less she understood. All she knew for sure was that something was amiss, either in her own brain or with Lady Mary.

 

* * *

 

 

_Children crying as their mothers were stabbed by hooded men …_

_Girls hardly old enough to marry being burnt alive …_

_A massacre in which numerous men, women, and children lay dead in pools of their own blood …_

_Screams ... horrific screams of tortured people …_

_The inhuman creature biting and sucking at her neck, holding her down, draining enough to kill her …_

Mary awoke, alone, in her dark bedroom. The nightmares had come again, as they always did whenever she tried to sleep. She had woken up at some time during the afternoon, but she did not move off of her bed. She felt weak and languid, as if she had been asleep for months, and several times she tried to fall back into sleep, though when she did so, she was plagued by the numerous nightmares, forming depictions of death and despair. So she lay in her gloomy bedroom, finding an odd comfort in the dark room where the blinding sun could not reach her.

Mary did not remember biting the kitchen maid or her attempt to attack Dr Clarkson and Anna. She did not remember hissing at the glare of the sun and taking cover under her bed. There was much that she was aware of, nonetheless, but did not understand – why did she feel so lifeless, when yesterday she had been bursting with vitality? She did recall Kemal coming into her room, forcing her onto the bed, drinking the blood from her neck, causing her such pain and terror. But she dismissed it as one of her nightmares she experiencing every time she tried to sleep. She was merely content to lie in her dark room, where hardly a single ray of light shone through any crack. It was bizarre how sudden her dislike of the sun had formed. To her, the blackness of the room was far more pleasant, and it gave her a strange sense of comfort and safety, the opposite of how most others regarded the darkness.

She heard footsteps tiptoe past her room. Mary lay unmoving on her bed, waiting for the person to pass by. Multiple times before, Anna or Gwen had come into her room to check on her, but whenever they opened the door, Mary felt a strange desire, a sort of hunger that she could not grasp. It was not the food and tea they had brought that tempted her, she believed, but the closer the servants came to her, the stronger this urge was. All she did was lie still, faking sleep until they exited, but the hunger only incremented, even after they had gone. She had noticed, when she had woken up, a delicious taste in her mouth that she wanted more of, and she was certain that whatever it was of would satisfy her strange craving. She did not have a clue as to what her body was yearning for, but she wanted it, to quench her unceasing hunger.

It was difficult to focus her mind on something else, but the desire was distressing Mary. She stared into the darkness, hoping that her mouth would stop watering eventually. Soon her attention was focused on something else, equally bizarre – she could see everything so clearly now, even in the thick shadows filling the room. The servants banged their hips on the chairs when they came into the room, as they could hardly see anything without light, yet to Mary it was all so visible: the outlines of the furniture, the print on the walls. When she outstretched her hand at arms length, she could so clearly see the digits in front of her—

Mary sat up abruptly and stared at her hands. They had _changed_ : her nails had become sharply pointed, and her fingers seemed longer with the extended nails. She stared in disbelief, blinking several times, wondering if this was a distortion of the darkness. But they felt just as they appeared, the nails sharp enough to slice into her flesh. She ran one hand over the other, and was aware how abnormally cold her skin was. The room itself was hardly chilly, and that made her icy skin feel all the more wrong.

“How did this happen?” she whispered to herself, as if she could provide such an answer. But as she was speaking, she noticed something else that was different: two of her teeth felt larger in her mouth. She reached up a hand, minding the now-sharp nails, and felt a needle-like prick when she touched her canine tooth. She gasped, growing increasingly afraid when she saw she had drawn blood. A dark bead, almost black, welled up from the tiny cut, but as soon as the wound formed it healed before her own eyes. Only the tiny droplet of blood remained, running down the length of her white finger – it smelled horribly familiar.

The scent brought to mind a gruesome image, and a dreadful fear settled over her as she remembered the night … Kemal … his red eyes, the stench of blood, and the sounds of him drinking as he pressed himself against her neck.

Mary hurriedly got up from the bed and walked over to the mirror on her vanity. She dreaded what she was about to see – or possibly what she would not see. A single second of relief came when she saw her face in the mirror, but it vanished when she looked closer at the reflection.

It was _her_ face, but it wasn’t as she knew it. It had grown gaunt, as if she had not eaten in weeks, and the skin was almost as white as snow, contrasting starkly with the surrounding darkness. Mary was struck by how _dead_ she looked, so bloodless and hollow-cheeked she now was, but her vision was so clear that what she was seeing could not be a trick from the lack of light.

She opened her mouth to utter something, an exclamation of stupefaction, but as soon as she did so, her eyes were drawn to her pearl-white teeth. Her two canines, as she had discovered before, had grown elongated and pointed just like her nails. They had become fangs, perfectly curved and sharp enough to pierce flesh with the slightest contact. Mary’s eyes widened in trepidation, eyes that were now the same blood-red shade as the ones she had seen the night before, illuminating the monstrous face of Kemal.

In her panic she slammed a hand to her chest, and she stood stone-still for a few seconds before she realized that her heart was not beating, not even in the slightest. It was absolutely illogical, impossible by any standards, but there could be no denying that she was undead.

Mary nearly screamed at her own reflection. What had she become?

She knew of the creatures featured in penny dreadfuls, in novels hidden on the shelves in the library downstairs, mentioned in ghost stories and myths. They were demons that appeared human, only to reveal their bloodthirsty nature to their terrified mortal victims. Not once in her life had Mary ever even contemplated such tales to be true, but here she was, her intuition telling her that this was no dream.

Suddenly, she understood her ghastly craving – a craving for human blood! She cried out in terror at this revelation, the realization that she was now a demon. She was a creature from a horror story, a damned undead being, something that shouldn’t exist outside of nightmares.

She felt her unholy desire escalate as the door opened, and she whirled around to see Anna cautiously step into the room. The scent that originated from Anna and wafted into the room was as aromatic as vanilla, and it clogged Mary’s nose, enticing her to sink her sharp teeth into Anna’s flesh. She remembered the queer taste in her mouth from earlier and recognized what it had been: someone’s blood, some unknown person’s blood that she had somehow taken without remembering. The memory of the taste and the desire for more sent a convulsion through her body, and a moan escaped between her lips. Her gasp startled Anna, who hadn’t seen Mary standing out of bed at first.

“Milady! You’re up? Are you feeling better?”

Light shone from the hallway outside, turning Anna’s body into a silhouette at the door. Mary was blinded by the shine, and she hissed, though not as piercingly as she had in the morning. Anna was a few feet away, but Mary was fighting the desperate urge to lunge at her, for she knew what would happen if she did.

“Don’t come any closer!” she whispered. She tried not to look at the wretched light, but even her skin felt like it was searing by the way the glow of the lamps radiated.

“Milady, are you alright?”

“Keep away!” Mary hissed. She turned away so Anna wouldn’t see her fangs. The maid’s scent was intoxicating, a hot meal being held under the nose of a forsaken, starving child. Mary’s mouth watered uncontrollably, and her teeth ached to bite into Anna. It was a temptation so intense that Mary began to believe her resistance was futile.

“Lady Mary? What’s going on?” Anna had never sounded so alarmed before. She hurried closer to Mary, but before she could exclaim something more, Mary cried out a frenzied, “Stop!” Anna stepped back, frightened of the way Mary was acting.

“Please, tell me what’s wrong!” Anna cried.

“Just go!” Mary nearly shouted. She whimpered, “I can’t … I mustn’t …” She swallowed and tried not to breath in that sweet, succulent smell, but it was to no avail. Mary felt completely helpless against her urge to attack Anna. She wanted that blood so much, her body was acting as if she might die without it, and if Anna did not leave soon, she’d certainly be vulnerable.

To her relief, Anna quickly backed out of the room, closing the door and snuffing out the light. Mary remained standing in the corner, trembling, trying to calm herself. Had Anna seen her fangs? Did she suspect at all?

Who could help her now? There was no one who could make her feel safe – she was afraid of herself, of her own infernal instincts. She did not know what she was capable of, how far her desire for blood would take her. How long would it be before she starved or went insane with her bloodlust?

She was more alone than ever, and now very, very thirsty.


	4. A Mortal's Bravery

 No one else dared to enter Lady Mary’s room after that, and so she was left alone to her despair. She waited in complete darkness, listening to the careful steps of the servants and her family pass by the door. She pressed her palms against her ears whenever that happened, as even the most delicate of footsteps sounded like elephants stomping about. Her thirst was immense now, and she was certain that the human scent had infected the air around her, growing more pungent by the hour. For once in her life she despised having so many people in the house, for all the different scents were mingling into a rich redolence of blood. She would be glad for even a single drop of anybody’s lifeblood, but how could she gain it when she felt so animal-like in her craving? She was disgusted by her own hunger; despite her desperation for blood, she was horrified by this alien longing. It was a gruesome notion that she would have to harm someone in order to satisfy her thirst, but how long could she stand her cravings before she lost all control?

Mary was terrified of herself, of the monster she had unwillingly become. She could not bear to look at the mirrors in her room, for it was not _her_ that stared back, but a pale demon peering with wide red eyes and long, cutting teeth. She felt deformed, hideous, afraid to be seen by anyone again. She remembered how frightened Anna had been when she caught a glimpse of her demonic features, and she could only hope that Anna wouldn’t let slip to her parents what she had seen.

She wondered if she should just wait and starve to death – unless death was not an option. She did not know what would occur if she went without blood, or how long she could last without. The need, however, was at its crowning point, and she knew that, no matter who entered, she’d be upon them without a moment’s hesitation.

How could she go on living a normal life after this? Why was she the one to be cursed? What had she done to deserve this? She cried with frustration and grief, even though she had the answer. She had allowed herself to be seduced by a stranger, fell for his charms and his beauty. There could be no other reason, but could it have been helped? Mary wondered, perhaps he had chosen her as his victim from the first moment they met. In the back of her mind there seemed to be that indication, like a distant voice telling her so. The prospect that she was Kemal’s prey from the very beginning scared Mary, but the real matter was that there was no one here to help her. She remained on her own, nursing her solitary torment.

Meanwhile, Lord and Lady Grantham were beside themselves with worry. Their daughter was confined to her bedchamber, refusing to eat and apparently fearful of sunlight. Neither of them were aware of Mary’s uncanny appearance, but even if they were, they would not deduce that she was no longer human. Like most people, they refused to believe in myths, even when there was evidence that there was truth in them. They only hoped that Mary was not about to die alone in the dark. And as for Edith and Sybil, they had their own suspicions. They didn't have to go to school to know that people normally didn't try to hid from the sun or stayed alive despite severe anaemia. But like their own parents, their guesses were far from the truth.

Gruff Mr Carson, who was fond of Lady Mary, couldn't concentrate with his ceaseless concern. He seemed even more irritable than usual, with the tiniest flaw provoking fury in him. Most of the servants found themselves walking on eggshells around him. He more or less interrogated Anna on Lady Mary’s condition, but as not even the doctor knew what was wrong, Anna could not provide a veritable answer.

That was not say that she herself did not have her own suspicions, but they were ones she did not risk voicing aloud.

Matthew alone knew the truth, but to burst in and tell Lord Grantham that Lady Mary was becoming a vampire was a one-way ticket to the lunatic asylum. He felt utterly useless: there not a lot he could do to help her. He could come in the night when the rest of the house of asleep, but there was the chance that he would frighten her. If there was a danger of losing what little trust there was between the two of them, Matthew wouldn’t dare undertake any course of action that ran that danger. He and Lady Mary were hardly friends, but regardless, he knew he was the only one who could ease her through her change.

What would Mary think of him if he did reveal his true nature? She was not fond of him now, but how would she react to learning _he_ was undead? Matthew could only guess, but that did not diminish his want to help her.

Even as he remained awake during the night, contemplating the dilemmas he and Lady Mary were facing, something else was unfolding at Downton.

 

* * *

 

Anna lay in her bed, eyes wide open, a realization finally dawning on her.

She had clearly seen Lady Mary’s bright red eyes and her long teeth, her deathly pallor extending to all parts of her body. The paleness alone could suggest many ailments, but certainly no illness could cause a person’s teeth to grow into fangs or for eye colours to shift. It had been Anna who discovered Lady Mary’s aversion to the sun (strictly speaking, it was she who had triggered the reaction). She had read books and heard tales of creatures fearing the sunlight, and after what she had seen, it did not take long before she was able to put two and two together. All of the signs pointed to only one explanation – the living dead.

There could be no denying it, although it was an easy thing to dismiss as false. But the way that Lady Mary had attacked Dr Clarkson, those long sharp teeth, the inhuman reaction to the morning sun ... it was a surprise no one else had made the connection. Even Anna had doubted her conclusion at first, but the more she considered this truth, the more she believed it. To think that such fantastical creatures such as vampires existed! The world, to Anna, now seemed very dark and brimming with secrets.

Anna had last seen Lady Mary cowering fearfully from the electric lights, and seeing her in such agony and torture tore her heart apart. She understood what Lady Mary needed most, but if her hypothesis was any true, that meant – _no_ , Anna thought, trying to sound sensible, _I must be mad._

But deep inside she knew it had be true, and if anyone was to offer themselves up to the poor woman, it had to be her. Only she was aware of what Lady Mary was now, and they trusted each other like sisters, almost. No one else could give her respite.

Slowly, as silently as a cat, Anna stood up out of bed, briefly observing Gwen’s sleeping figure. There wasn’t much chance of waking her – especially since poor Gwen had suffered an extreme fright when she saw Lady Mary – but if Anna accidentally disturbed the sleep of anyone else, she’d be subject to Mrs Hughes and her harsh discipline. Taking a long time to cautiously open the door, she tread lightly down the hallway to the stairs, moving quieter than even Daisy could creep. Once safely on the carpeted corridor close to the family’s bedrooms, she walked a little faster, as quickly as she could without making too much noise.

Anna had never ventured around the house so late at night, but now she was beginning to understand the fears of the more superstitious maids. Every corner and archway seemed possessed by shadows, unrecognisable without the light of the electric lamps, and the darker areas flickered and shifted. Anna’s heart pounded as she tiptoed around to Lady Mary’s room. If vampires were real, what in the world lived outside of stories as well? Ghosts that inhabited old homes, shadows that shrouded monsters – Anna had never been afraid of the dark until tonight, and briefly she considered retreating to her room, to her warm bed.

What she was doing was obviously complete madness, but she had to do it. She did not know what would happen if Lady Mary did not consume blood soon, if it was death or insanity, but Anna could not let her suffer alone in that dark bedroom, cowering in the corner, afraid of the world. She braced herself for the worst as she stood in front of the bedroom door, reached for the handle, and turned it.

 

* * *

 

Mary sat on her bed, claws digging into the wooden bedpost as she grasped it, trying to quell her ragged gasping. Her thirst was eating away her insides, and she could feel her conscience slipping away. Every time she had thoughts of attacking someone and sucking out their blood, she forced herself to forget, but it was growing harder to stop. She wouldn’t be able to stay like this for long, and soon her resistance would be all for naught.

A normal life seemed unattainable now with this wretched hunger. She missed seeing her family, attending the parties, even just walking outside with Papa, but sooner or later she might have to get used the idea that she would never be able to live as she had before.

She heard footsteps softly pace close, then stop. She listened with keen ears – they had stopped outside her room. The scent of human blood intensified, and her thirst increased so much that she cried out in the pain. Who was up at this late hour? Mary’s hands were shaking as they clutched the bedpost, breathing heavily, eyes watching the door on the other side of the room. Her stomach dropped as she watched the handle slowly being turned, the door gradually swinging open.

The intoxicating smell flooded the room, rushing towards Mary like a cloying wind. She shuddered, feeling another ounce of her self-control waver. Using what little restraint she still had to remain by her bed, she looked at the person who had entered her bedroom.

It was Anna, wearing only her nightgown and a face of uncertainty.

“What are you doing here?” Mary whispered harshly. Her thirst was unbearable now with a human standing right in front of her, and Anna of all people – she was so close to salvation, to the crimson liquid that she required, but how could she stand to hurt her?

“I know what’s wrong, Lady Mary,” Anna said, “and I want to help you.”

“What do you mean?” Mary asked.

She watched with horror as Anna began to brush the hair away from her neck, exposing her smooth skin, where her veins pulsed with anticipation beneath. Mary’s tongue, of its own accord, flicked upwards and licked one of her fangs, and she understood just how close she was to finally tasting a human’s blood. Even so, she hung back, hoping that Anna would turn back and run.

“I can’t do it!” she cried. “I’ll hurt you. I might kill you.”

“If it will stop your suffering, milady, I don’t care how much you’ll hurt me,” Anna said, stepping closer to the creature shying away from her. She saw those white fangs in the dark and wondered how much they would hurt as they sank into her flesh. Her heart seemed to beat faster and harder, but she tried not to display her apprehension as she approached Mary, who was hunched against the wall, a hand clamped over her nose and mouth. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Anna – but that scent! It was driving her completely mad.

“Anna, go back to your room!” Mary could not believe what Anna was asking. “Do you not see what I am, what I’ve become?” She bared her fangs, hoping to frighten Anna into fleeing, but she was unflinching in her resolution.

“I know what you are,” she said, “but I can’t let you torture yourself anymore.”

“Anna, please, just … no …”

Anna, by sheer instinct, grasped Mary’s wrist. She startled, feeling the fiery warmth of Anna’s hand around her cold arm, the pulse in her fingers signalling to her what she was so close to.

In that instant, Mary changed.

She snarled, looking at Anna with red eyes burning with fury. She could not hold back any longer; her hunger had taken control over her struggle to resist. Anna uttered a small cry of surprise, her fright now surfacing, but Mary was ravenous and heedless of her friend’s fearfulness. She hissed cruelly, wrenching her hand from Anna’s grasp before lunging forward and grabbing her by the throat. With incredible force she threw Anna onto the bed, bending over her like a wild beast on top of prey. Anna had little chance to scramble away, for Mary pinned her down as if she were a mere doll. Without the briefest hesitation, she sank her teeth into Anna’s neck.

So long it had been since the sweetness had filled her mouth! It was purer than anything she had consumed before, the mouthwatering taste bringing her to a pleasure she had never experienced in her lifetime. Mary took hold of a handful of Anna’s hair and pulled her head back so she could suck harder against the wounds her teeth had made. How did she resist for so long? Her body sang with every swallow, creating new strength and power inside her, eliciting a series of low, lustful moans.

Anna whimpered and writhed as her blood filled Mary’s mouth; her fangs had penetrated so deeply that Anna’s throat burned with the fiery sting. Once or twice she let out a scream that might have woken the entire house as Mary drank quickly, greed keeping her attached to her neck. Blood was soaking her chin and lips, completely coating the inside of her mouth. It had been so dry before, but as Mary gulped down the hot, crimson liquid she thought she would never stop. She never wanted to stop; she was lost in her voracious thirst, like a savage beast that had been starved from birth.

Anna suddenly stopped struggling against Mary, her arms going limp and her breath about to stall. Mary, in the midst of her drink, somehow knew that there was something wrong, and she noticed her victim’s sudden weakness. A faint voice in her mind told her she should stop, that she was satiated for now. Against her desire to continue sucking out Anna’s blood, she did. She tore roughly away from her, her haste leaving a thin tear in the skin from where more blood dripped. Mary wanted desperately to lap up the blood pooling onto the bed, but she was breathless from her feeding. Her hunger had been sated, and the smell of the fresh blood did not hold such a great temptation as it had before she drank it.

Mary’s eyes regarded Anna, lying flaccid beneath her. Her neck was painted a deep red, and there were two holes where Mary had bitten down next to the thin patch of torn skin.

“Anna? Anna!” she whispered frantically. Had she taken too much blood?

She saw the rise and fall of Anna's stomach and sighed with relief. She still seemed conscious, merely exhausted from the pain and the sudden rapid loss of blood. Mary waited for a short while as Anna’s eyes fluttered open. The punctures were still there, but her neck had stopped bleeding, thanks to Mary’s hand pressed against the wounds. There was a grisly red mark that reached her to her jaw where Mary had torn the skin.

Anna groaned and struggled to sit up, but Mary kept her lying down.

“Milady?” Anna asked feebly. “Are you alright now?”

Her vision was blurry, but she could still see the redness of Lady Mary's lips and teeth. She felt as if she had been suspended in a dream, but remembered what she had done, and the end result was staring down at her, ruddy lips dripping with dark moisture.

“Oh Anna," Mary said, eyes welling up with shame. “I'm so sorry. I – I didn’t think I could stop.”

She lifted the hand that had quelled the bleeding on Anna’s neck. It was glossy with still-warm blood, and Mary stared at it with astonishment.

“I just drank this,” she murmured. “This is _blood,_ and I _drank_ it.”

There was no better confirmation – she truly was a vampire.

 

* * *

 

Anna remained in Lady Mary’s bedroom until the sun’s first rays appeared between the trees. Both women were visibly shaken by the events of the night. The stench of blood hung around the bedroom, and there were small droplets dotting the sheets. They had covered them up as best as they could with the blankets, but the odour remained, and Mary wished it weren’t so strong. How long would it be until she felt the hunger again?

“Do you promise me that you won’t tell anyone at all?” Mary pleaded desperately. “Not even Mama or Papa. They cannot know what I am.”

“Is that the best thing to do?” asked Anna. “Perhaps they would be willing—”

“No,” Mary said tensely. “I couldn’t bear it if they knew. I don’t know what they would do to me if they did. Lock me up, kill me ... I think I would be safer if they didn’t know anything.”

“Then we’ll figure this out between us,” Anna said, trying to console the downtrodden Lady Mary. “You’ll be alright.”

“Will I?” Mary said.

Anna still felt weak as she hurried back to her room. She had lost more blood than she had expected Mary could take, but it was a miracle that she was walking at all. The bite had hurt tremendously, but if Lady Mary was closer to her normal self, then Anna didn’t care how much pain could be inflicted upon her.

As she changed into her uniform she tried not to let Gwen see the slash on her neck. If she was asked about it she would not know how to respond. It hurt whenever her fingers brushed past it, and only part of her uniform covered the scar; there was still a line that reached her chin. She just hoped that no one in the servant's hall would notice, particularly Mr Carson or Mrs Hughes. She brushed off the inquiries of anybody who saw her unstable gait, saying she was but a tiny bit dizzy. By the time she reached the servant’s hall, she considered herself lucky to not have fainted.

“Daisy! Get that tea into the servant's hall or I'll take your liver and make you watch as I feed it to the dog!”

Mrs Patmore’s voice bounced off every wall of the downstairs quarters. The diffident kitchen maid came rushing in with the tea trays and inched in between Anna and Gwen to set them on the table. She had been up for several hours already and her hands were raw and chapped. Daisy was more tired than usual, as the few hours she was allowed sleep she had spent worrying if she would see those red, leering eyes.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted something strange on Anna’s neck. A scar, Daisy discerned. On her neck, where she herself had been bitten two nights ago. Her throat twinged at the memory.

“Daisy? Are you alright?” Anna asked, not noticing the way she was looking at her neck.

Daisy realized the hand holding a teacup was shaking somewhat. As quickly as she could, she ran back to the kitchen, nearly stumbling over the hall boy’s broom. She hoped the hard work would distract her from her nightmare, but thus far it was not turning out so.

Anna was hoping for better luck. She somehow managed to stay focused, even though she was a trifle light headed. Gwen did not notice the scar even as they stripped most of the beds and took the sheets outside. Anna wished she could have taken Lady Mary’s sheets to wash off the blood stains – marks her own blood had made.

Strong chills whipped through the air that nearly blew Anna’s cap off. It was growing grey in the sky, the colder months approaching faster. From outside, both maids could see the soft amber light from within the rooms, save for Lady Mary’s. Even though her hunger was satiated, she still had a problem with light, and the dark curtains remained strung up behind the windows.

“Is Lady Mary any better today?” Gwen inquired. “Did you see her at all?”

“I believe she’s feeling a little more herself,” Anna said. “But not entirely …”

She trailed off. Matthew Crawley was approaching the house, most likely with the intention of seeing Lord Grantham. The gossip that old Lady Violet and Lord Grantham were vying for a marriage between Lady Mary and Matthew had spread like wildfire among the servants, but Lady Mary’s current condition was putting that endeavour on hold.

Anna did not often have opportunity to see Matthew Crawley, but as he strode closer, her mind jumped to something peculiar. Perhaps it was due to a symptom of her anaemia, but she surmised that there was something about Matthew that resembled Lady Mary’s outward characteristics. It must have been the silver light reflecting off of the white sheets that was creating some kind of glowing effect, making Matthew’s skin appear an alabaster hue, almost identical to Mary’s pallor. Anna shook off any silly thoughts before they could fully form in her mind.

Matthew asked Anna where Lord Grantham might be found, and she replied, “in the library.” He gave his thanks, and then his sharp eyes rested on the scar on Anna’s neck.

It was so very conspicuous; Lady Mary had fed from her maid. There was no denying what the mark on Anna’s neck meant. Matthew had made similar scars on most of his victims, during the early days of his undeath. Some of those unfortunate souls, however, hadn’t been as lucky as Anna to be alive.

It was only last night that Matthew decided he needed to go to Lady Mary’s aid before she accidentally killed someone. Her mind would have regained consciousness by now, and if she had succeeded in drinking from Anna without killing her, she was most likely aware that something was not right. During the first few weeks after being turned the thirst for blood would be immense; hunger would return only a short time after feeding, and each time Lady Mary tasted blood she’d only want more of it. Matthew was amazed that Anna was fit enough to work, though he had caught hints of anaemic fatigue in her eyes.

He continued on his way to the library, taking the long route around the house. He was glad for the overcast that took away some of the sun’s light. Winter was definitely on its way; the hours the sun was up were becoming shorter, making the night – and the time he could hunt and feed – longer. Already the air could chill flesh, and soon frost would form on the grassy fields.

Inside the library, Matthew saw Lord Grantham talking with Evelyn Napier. Lord Grantham’s labrador, as Matthew expected, whined and backed away from the door where it had been lying close to.

“... awful. Ghastly for you and her ladyship, I imagine.”

“Yes, it has been rather dampening on the spirits,” Lord Grantham said. “Not even the doctor knows for sure.”

He spied Matthew standing in the doorway. “Matthew, hello. Please come in.”

Matthew took his hat off and shook Evelyn Napier’s hand. The latter’s grip was slack, and he seemed devoid of sleep, dark blotches sitting underneath his eyes. He reminded Matthew of someone who had just been fed off of, but he looked less healthy than Anna did. It might have only been but a few hours before. There was even a faint bruise below Mr Napier’s jaw. Matthew was aware of Mr Napier’s affiliation with Kemal Pamuk, and it would not be unlikely for Mr Napier to serve as the deranged Turk’s repast.

“Is Mr Pamuk still in London?” Matthew asked the other man.

“Yes, although he is just as worried about Lady Mary as everyone else,” Mr Napier replied. “I telephoned him about it and he seemed … quite distressed.”

“I imagine,” Matthew said dryly. Mr Napier’s lie was clear-cut. “How is Lady Mary today?” he asked Lord Grantham.

“Still in her room. She hasn’t changed for better or worse,” he answered.

“We were just talking about her,” Mr Napier interjected. “I’ve offered to send up a specialist from London, quite adept at diagnosing strange diseases.”

Lord Grantham winced noticeably. “I’m sure Mary is simply suffering a rather onerous fever. Dr Clarkson said it would be best to allow her bedrest before jumping to any nasty conclusions.”

Matthew took a deep, gratuitous breath. “Lord Grantham, you don’t suppose I might be allowed to see Lady Mary?”

Lord Grantham looked at him, and Matthew regarded him with an intense, controlling gaze. He did not appreciate using his power to sway Lord Grantham’s mind, but it would guarantee that he would be given permission to enter Lady Mary’s room.

“Why do you wish to see Mary while she is ill?” Lord Grantham inquired, his voice slightly monotonous.

“I believe I can help her somehow,” Matthew said. “You know that my father was a doctor and my mother a nurse, so I’m not completely unacquainted with illness.”

“That’s very noble of you,” Lord Grantham said. “To be honest, I am at my wit’s end, and if you could help Mary, I would be thoroughly grateful.”

“But I believe Mary did not wish to see anyone,” Mr Napier interjected. “And on the note of the specialist, I would pay all expenses —”

“Mr Napier, I appreciate your offer, but perhaps Matthew can lighten our dark hour, even if he only sits with Mary. I think it is best for her to talk to someone; she has been alone for far too long,” Lord Grantham said, silencing Mr Napier.

Matthew thanked Lord Grantham and quickly went upstairs. He did not need any direction to Lady Mary’s bedroom – he could sense her, sitting inside the room reeking strongly of blood.

 

* * *

 

The taste of Anna’s blood remained in Mary’s mouth, and the scent lingered around the bed. She tried not to be engrossed with her hunger, but it was too persistent a desire. After just a few hours, her appetite had returned, and it was becoming harder to ignore. Mary wondered how she would adapt to longing to drink from every human who walked past her room. She smelled Anna’s blood that hung in the air, and every now and then would catch whiffs of somebody else, promising her more assuagement of her bloodlust. Her senses had heightened in strength so much that they overwhelmed her, but her sense of smell was by far the most gruelling to ignore. The hunger exhausted her, and she was curled up on the floor, for spare droplets of dried blood remained embedded in the bedsheets.

She jolted as a sliver of light shone on the floor, and she heard the door creak open. Mary did not know who it was – she had not detected a human scent, though she had heard the footsteps steadily approach her door. She did not dare turn to the light.

“Who’s there?” she breathed.

“Lady Mary?” Mary recognized the voice: it was Matthew.

“Why are you here?” she gasped. Why him? What idiotic move was he making, entering her room while she was in this state?

It was bizarre – when Anna had entered the night before, Mary had nearly been overwhelmed by the scent, but there was hardly any olfactory indication that Matthew was in the room. It was as if he did not have a scent, or rather, he did, but it was unlike any Mary had discerned before.

Matthew was not leaving. Scent or no scent, Mary was convinced that if he came any closer, she’d be tempted to bite him.

“You can’t be here. You need to leave. I’ll hurt you,” she said, not turning her head.

“No, you won’t,” Matthew replied, closing the door and casting the room in darkness again. “I want to help you.”

He can’t possibly know, Mary thought. She was sure Anna would keep her secret. But what could he mean?

“You can’t help me,” she said. “Whatever you’re thinking, you can’t do anything to help me.”

“Yes, I can,” Matthew said adamantly.

He was standing beside her now; Mary was struck by how she hadn’t heard him move. He outstretched his hand to her. “Why don’t you sit up now?”

Mary pushed her upper body off of the ground, but she remained crouched in front of Matthew. She glared at his hand, noticing the vaguely exposed skin of his wrist. There was a large vein there, she knew; she could pull him down and overpower him before he could fight her. It would be so easy, and she would gain a few more hours of sanity. She could drain him in an instant and be satisfied once more.

It was too much for her, the temptation too great. She grabbed his arm, pulled away the sleeve, and clamped her teeth around his wrist. Matthew stumbled forward, seizing the bedpost an arm’s length away before he fell on top of her.

The instant Mary bit into his cold skin, she realized something was wrong. She was holding tightly onto Matthew wrist, and beneath her fingers she could detect no pulse, not even the faintest beat. She removed her teeth gently from the tender wound. The blood had not tasted human; it fact, it tasted like Kemal’s blood, the connection unpleasantly bringing back the recollection of him slashing his wrist and pressing it to her mouth. And it smelled unearthly – like her own, when she had pricked her finger on her fang.

She looked up at Matthew, red eyes wide, still holding onto his arm.

“You’re not alone.” He was smiling down at her, and his teeth were as sharp as hers.

Mary stared at him with morbid astonishment, and Matthew was amused at himself for shocking her.

“You’re not alone,” he repeated, still smiling. “And I’m no longer the only one in this family.”

Mary swayed slightly on her knees, and her claws released their grip on Matthew’s arm. He straightened, and his eyes flickered a fierce red, replacing the vivid blue that Mary was familiar with. She froze, recognizing his eyes to be the same shade as her own.

“You’re a … vampire?” she said in an almost inaudible whisper.

Matthew nodded. Mary was sure she was going to faint.

“I won’t hurt you,” Matthew said, softly and slowly, taking her hands in his. “I am going to help you. I will explain everything to you.”

 


	5. A Plan of Revenge

“You’re sure of it?”

Evelyn’s voice was quivering, but barely perceptible to any possible eavesdroppers. “I know it the signs well. I had my suspicions before, but a performance of hypnosis on the earl confirms it.”

“I see. I did suspect, but …” A discernible hiss. “Why didn’t I see it before?”

“Matthew Crawley is not a fledgling vampire,” Evelyn noted. “He must be far over a century old to have achieved such a flawless hypnosis.”

He paused, uncertain of what he was about to say next, but Pamuk would know he was concealing something. It would be forced out of him eventually. “He was interested in Lady Mary.”

“Of course,” Pamuk said bitterly.

“He’s up in her room right now,” Evelyn added.

“What?” The shout sounded scratchy though the earpiece, and startled Evelyn enough to cause him to nearly drop the Crawleys’ phone.

He inhaled deeply. “I tried to prevent him from going up – I said Lady Mary might not want to see him – but his lordship allowed him up there. It was partially under Mr Crawley’s hypnosis, but I’m sure that it was no strong persuasion.”

“What are you implying?”

“I was ... just under the impression that … that Lord and Lady Grantham want Mr Crawley and Lady Mary to … grow closer.”

Pamuk’s laugh was cold. “It’s too late for that now. But what _are_ they doing right now?”

“Talking, maybe? I don’t know exactly what about.” Evelyn grumbled, under his breath. “We can’t all have hearing like yours.”

“Be careful, Mr Napier. It was not so long ago that men were mutilated for speaking out of turn.”

“I apologize,” Evelyn said icily.

Pamuk fell silent for a short time as he calculated his next sentence. His voice, Evelyn perceived, was incredibly dangerous, despite its serenity. “Do what you can to ensure Mr Crawley does not interfere any further. It would be a pity to see all our hard work go to waste.”

Evelyn gulped nervously. “What am I to do?”

“Be creative, but do not make any … errors. If something deadly were to befall Mr Crawley, then so be it.”

Evelyn froze. Sometimes Pamuk asked much of him, but this suggestion was a suicidal task. As terrified as he was of Pamuk, under no circumstances would he be able to get close enough to Matthew Crawley to push a stake through his heart. Despite this, he uttered, “Yes, sir.”

“Good. On a similar note, I’m sending Carlisle up in a little while. He has business to take care of in London first.”

“When, sir?”

“I cannot be precise, but after her transformation is complete. Another week or two, I think.”

Evelyn was desperately trying to quell his own beating heart. What diabolical plan did Pamuk have in mind that involved Carlisle? This was beginning to frighten him, methodically undoing every nerve in his body. “And then?”

“And then, when Lady Mary is in my arms again, perhaps I will feel it is appropriate to grant you your wish.”

“Truly?” Evelyn nearly forgot that he was supposed to be speaking in a hushed voice. “Do you—?”

“Yes. That is, if you succeed in your task,” Pamuk corrected.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Do not disappoint me, Mr Napier. You’ve done so in the past, and if you fail at your given task—”

“I understand, Mr Pamuk,” Evelyn said before hanging the earpiece back onto the handset.

 

* * *

 

Matthew sat in the chair opposite Mary, who was sitting on her bed, trying to understand everything that he was telling her. Once she got over the initial shock that he too was a vampire, it seemed that her world was no longer as dismal as she had before perceived it. He was the same accursed creature that she had become, yet he had appeared as normal as anybody. He had gained some façade of an ordinary life despite his vampirism, and she was therefore capable of doing the same. But what he proceeded to tell her only reminded her the great extent to which her life had changed.

“I feel like I’m starving,” she said forlornly. “I can _smell_ them all, everybody who walks by my door. I can’t control myself.”

“In time you will be able to,” Matthew assured her. “It takes a week or so for the urge to lessen. You are only adjusting to your new anatomy, so your senses are beyond your control.”

“But I’ll still have to … feed,” Mary said.

Matthew nodded. “You can survive by feeding only once every few days or so,” he said. “That’s what I’ve done, though I’m certain that I’m essentially starving myself.”

Little that Matthew said made Mary feel any less of a monster. To her, no matter what she did, she would still be one.

“I’d rather die than live forever as some bloodsucking creature. Is there nothing I can do to change back?” she asked. But even then, she knew that the answer was not the one she hoped for.

“I’ve lived as a vampire for nearly four hundred years, and I’m no closer to finding a cure than I was when I was turned.” Matthew had searched in every old text and manuscript he could get his hands on, scouring dusty libraries for most of his first century, yearning to find a way to remove his curse, but there was nothing to be found, and he decide to face the harsh reality that he would never be human again.

Mary felt very close to crying, but she urged herself not to – she could not stand the embarrassment of crying in front of Matthew. “I don’t feel like I can ever be happy again,” she said, despair cutting out her words.

She tensed as Matthew rose from his chair to kneel at her side. “Listen to me, Mary,” he began seriously. “We are cursed, you and I, and there’s nothing to be done about it. We must simply adapt. You mustn’t give up on your life just yet.”

“How?” Mary cried. “How can I simply accept this? How can I ever live with hurting people just so _I_ can live? I nearly killed Anna last night! How can I live with being a murderer?”

Matthew stood up quickly, practically a flash of movement before Mary’s eyes. He looked even more afflicted than Mary.

“Don’t call yourself a murderer; you haven’t killed anyone yet. And I am certain that you _never_ will be a killer,” he said sternly. “You _did not_ kill Anna, despite every instinct in your being to do so. That’s more than I can lay claim to.”

Mary looked up at him, stunned at what he had just admitted. “Have you ... killed people?”

There was a single beat of silence. “Yes, I have. I have murdered innocents, and more than you ever will come close to.” His mouth curved into an ironic smile, though he seemed pained at the memory. “Believe me, I was not the hero you see before you back then.”

This disclosure was as startling to Mary as his revealing of his true nature to her. Never before had she even entertained the possibility that he had blood on his hands; it was too otherworldly for her mind to grasp – but even so, he did not frighten her in the least. He did not look like a killer, even as he stood there with his fangs exposed, for there was no savagery in his fiery eyes.

“Tell me, then ... do you feel at all guilty for those deaths?” Mary asked, convinced that there was little reason for him not to be.

Matthew paused. “I can still remember their faces, each and every one. I think about them every day, dying in raw terror because of me. I regret that I was reckless and stupid, even if it was beyond my control, because the ones who suffered for it were others.”

His brow furrowed as he recalled his past, his eyes flickering like a fire. “They all succumbed to the demon within me, and soon I too saw myself as a monster. I think that’s the worse thing that anyone can do to themselves: believe that they are a monster. You feel the need to prove yourself right, to stop caring what happens to those that you hurt. I started to let go of any shred of humanity I still had because that seemed the only path left for me.”

“But you’ve held onto it,” Mary said. “Before today, I thought you were as human as any ordinary person.” Those were perhaps the kindest words she had ever spoken to him to that point.

“You’re absolutely right,” Matthew said. “I suppose I couldn’t let go of it completely when I kept remembering what evil truly is. I realized I did not want to be that, to kill and not feel any guilt or pain. Somehow, I’ve kept my humanity, and you will as well, Lady Mary. You are no monster.”

“If you talk to Edith, she’ll change your mind,” Mary said choicely. “I can sound rather the villain to her.”

“My point is, this is not the end. Let’s be strong, both of us, and accept the fact that, though you are a vampire, you have not yet lost your humanity.” Matthew gave Mary a small smile, and she returned it. Neither of them acted upon their shared desire to grasp each others hands.

“But will I ever be able to go outside in the daytime again? I can hardly stand even a candle’s light,” Mary asked.

“Of course you will. You’ve seen me in the daylight, haven’t you?” Matthew responded. “It does take a while for the body to adjust to light, and for a while you’ll only be able to bear the cloudier days. But in time, you will be able to stand in the sunlight again.”

“And you’re sure I won’t burst into flames?” joked Mary. Both of them laughed, much to Mary’s embarrassment.

“If you are careful, no, although it does feel rather disagreeable,” Matthew said. “But remember, there is a grain of truth in every legend. I’ve learned which are indeed myths and which are true.”

“I’ve already found out that I do have a reflection,” Mary remarked, “and I’m quite glad that I still do.”

“We are solid beings, after all,” Matthew said. “But I am relieved as well; it would not play out so easily for me if someone noticed I did not cast a reflection. There are, however, other myths about our kind that are actually true.”

“Don't tell me the myth about sleeping in coffins is true,” Mary smirked.

Matthew shrugged. “Alright, I won't then. Even though ...”

She looked at him quickly and then burst into laughter again. “You can’t be serious!”

Matthew smiled; he never thought Mary’s laugh could sound so … innocent. Then again, he had rarely heard her speak in a convivial manner to him. “Well, I do find it’s easier to rest if you trick your body into thinking it’s entombed,” he said, hoping Mary would hear him as she doubled up with laughter.

He realized he had seen more emotion from Mary in just a few minutes than he had ever before. She had changed so drastically, was so very different from when she had first met him. Before the trouble the Turkish gentleman brought, she was petulant, arrogant, and most definitely against Matthew being at Downton. What Matthew was seeing now, however, was so unlike the Lady Mary he knew before that it was as if he were talking with someone else. She was vulnerable to her fear and her unsatisfied thirst, but even more surprising was her laughing with him. Some of that coldness had been drained away along with her blood, and it was quite ironic to Matthew that she was showing more life than she ever had displayed when she was truly alive.

 

* * *

 

_He remembered the first time he ever set eyes on Mary; tall and graceful, offering an icy welcome to Downton. It had not been the most auspicious of arrivals to begin with. He had not been thrilled that Lord Grantham had sent him the services of several people, including one Mr Moseley to act as his butler and valet. Matthew wasn’t used to having many people in his house (he did typically have a maid for appearance’s sake) and poor_ _Moseley ran the risk of becoming a vampire’s feed. He had begun to think that it had been a mistake answering Lord Grantham’s calling, that he should have left the family alone and gone on living in the shadows._

_But when he saw Mary, unexpectedly beautiful, enter the sitting room, it was as if_ he _had been the one hypnotised by a vampire. The way she held herself, her commanding voice – it was as if she was a goddess or an empress, although it did not take long for him to recognize her aloofness. Nonetheless, he was caught completely unawares, and from that first moment she looked down at him as if he were a dead varmint. Any conversation between them was stiff, any actions uncongenial – and yet Matthew could not bring himself to despise her. In truth, there was something about her that beguiled him, a voice in his head whispering her name constantly._

_There was his thirst as well. It was stunning just how magnificent she smelled, the ambrosial scent of her blood powerful enough to become a distraction. At that first encounter, he had been afraid that his control would slip, his fangs would extend, and he would find himself embedded in her neck. He had even entertained the notion of sneaking into her bedroom at night and feeding from her, tasting her blood which he knew would be divine. Never before had he held that sort of lust for anyone: drinking blood was but a means for survival. He was shocked at himself for wishing to do that to Mary, and he could not imagine her reaction if she found out why sometimes his gaze was so intensely focused on her._

_He had sworn someday that he_ would _do it. One moonless night, he_ would _drive his fangs into her neck as she slept, to consume her pure taste, then leave as silently as he came. She might not ever realize what he had done to her. She would never know that it was her blood that enticed him, that drove him to seek her out in the middle of the dark night._

_It was a shame that someone had drained her of her human blood before he had the courage to do it himself._

 

* * *

 

As soon as she heard laughter from inside Mary’s room, Edith wondered if it was a mistake to eavesdrop on the exchange coming from within. Her jaw was going to hit the floor if she heard one more demented thing pass through the white door. Either it was she who was insane, or the two people speaking really weren't entirely human. That was what she had gathered early on, and as the minutes passed, Edith grew more and more aware of the real nature of the conversation.

She had had her suspicions when, from the corner of her eye, she noticed Matthew Crawley enter Mary’s bedroom. For what matters he did so she was not initially sure of, but she didn’t think she’d hear of vampires, losing humanity, and Mary almost killing Anna.

Edith had heard numerous strange things said behind closed doors, but _this_ was unquestionably disturbing. It went against everything that was natural, or supposed to be, and it horrified Edith that it was Mary and Matthew who were participating in this madness. She was certain her hearing was reasonably good, and the door probably could not distort words so severely, so unless she was mentally ill, she was hearing things that were not normal by any means.

So, Matthew had been a vampire long before he walked through the doors of Downton, and now Mary was too. It explained her sudden and strange symptoms, especially the repulsion of sunlight, though Edith had never sensed anything supernatural about Matthew. It was almost funny to remember that Mary had once derisively called Matthew a sea monster; she apparently was not inordinately far from the truth. But nothing could stop Edith from feeling that conventional chill of fear run through her – after all, she had only just made the unwelcome discovery that vampires did exist, and two of them lived in the form of her older sister and her distant cousin. Many times in the past, Edith had regarded Mary as a passive-aggressive monster, including quite recently when she tormented and teased Edith for her display at Patrick’s funeral, but the thought that she was now a bloodsucking demon sickened Edith. And the man who would inherit Downton one day had been biting people on their necks and drinking their blood for four hundred years, which seemed the most ghastly of prospects to her.

Edith hurried away from the door when she heard more of her sister’s cackles. She did not want to listen anymore of that surreal conversation – and she had heard enough of it to understand exactly what had happened to Mary. Even so, heading straight for her own room, she wondered if they had known she was listening at the door. Would either of them confront her about her spying, or do something to her that would make her regret her actions? To contemplate the many torments they could bestow upon her made her shudder, but she knew she could not let her fear get the better of her.

She was uneasy at this new reality, that her own family were beings that were capable of inflicting supernatural evils. She did not give thought to the likelihood that perhaps they were not as bloodthirsty or malicious as she assumed; vampires were synonymous with evil, without exceptions. Mary was now such a monster, but had only been so for a few days. But Matthew, a much older vampire, undead long before reaching Downton — just how dangerous was he? What malign powers did he possess? Worse to consider, was it he who was responsible for the current bedlam?

Without the insight, or even an implication, that it was Kemal Pamuk who bit and turned Mary, Edith could only make the erroneous assumption that it was Matthew who was responsible for placing the curse on her sister. It did not seem an outrageous idea to Edith as she pieced together a picture in her mind. Mary had shown not the slightest warmth to Matthew since his arrival, and little had improved her outlook on his presence. Yet Matthew had, indirectly, admitted to Edith herself that he held a slight interest in Mary. She had come to realize this while showing him the churches of the county, and if her memory served her well, was the day before Mary had contracted her odd sickness (vampirism, Edith remembered). For what particular reason Matthew had changed Mary, Edith could not say for sure, but there was one absolute certainty: it had been no coincidence. _And if Matthew thinks he can get away with this just by talking to her about humanity, then he has something unpleasant coming to him,_ Edith promised to herself.

 

* * *

 

“Edith, are you quite sure you heard right?” Sybil asked with a cynical look in her eye. “I think you’re reading too many horror novels.”

She fiddled with her fancy necklace, hoping she would get the chance to escape to dinner and not listen to Edith’s concocted account. She was not ready to believe what Edith was saying, giving that outlandish stories weren’t an uncommon thing to be shared between them.

“Yes, I _am_ quite sure,” insisted Edith. “Matthew’s a vampire, he bit Mary, and now she’s a vampire. It’s as simple as that.”

Sybil raised her eyebrows. Poor Edith was clearly unaware of just how loony she sounded.

Edith saw the way her younger sister was regarding her. “I’m not crazy!” she nearly shouted.

Sybil sighed – she had heard many mad things come out of Edith’s mouth, but nothing so deranged or impossible as this. “It’s just that … it simply does not make sense. Vampires don’t exists in real life, and you know that. Or should,” she added to herself.

“Well, people once thought the world was flat,” Edith retorted. “Scientists discover new things every day, things that they didn’t think were possible before. Who’s to say that vampires aren’t real just because they haven’t been officially discovered?”

Sybil could tell that Edith was hell-bent on proving her theory right. It would take a lot of arguing to dissuade her. But there was something in her voice that sounded desperately serious, and Sybil did wonder if Edith was telling only the truth.

“Think about it, Sybil,” Edith said. “That morning Mary got ‘sick,’ Anna went to her room to open the curtains and wake her up, but as soon as she did, Mary became aggressive towards the light – so much that she hid under her bed.”

“I know _that_ ,” Sybil said crossly. “That spread about the house like a fire.”

“And she’s been hiding under in her room ever since,” Edith said, growing more animated as she began to single out her points. “Even for Mary, that’s an abnormal way for anyone to react to the sun, but a vampire—”

Do you believe that Mary’s a vampire based only on that?” Sybil asked. She remembered, from the half-dozen horror novels she had read in her lifetime, that such a symptom pointed to vampirism and little else.

“That and the conversation I overheard,” Edith answered. “It sounded too genuine to be fake, and what reason would they have to fabricate such a tale? I doubt they realized I was listening in.”

“So you are convinced?” Sybil inquired.

“Without a doubt,” Edith said with no hesitation. “Please say you are as well; no one else is going to believe me.”

“I want to believe you, I really do,” Sybil contended. “But it’s just unnatural.”

“Trust me Sybil, I thought both of them were insane at first, but it gives a reason for everything that has happened to Mary recently. Vampires are real, and right now we have _two_ in the family.”

Neither of them wanted to believe that their sister was now an actual monster, but somewhere inside each of them, they knew that what Edith was saying was true – at least the part that Mary was undead. But Sybil too was unaware of Kemal Pamuk’s real form, and so she came to the conclusion that only Matthew was able to turn Mary.

“I’m not going to sleep at all tonight,” she said, shaking her head. “So, what are you going to do about it? You can’t tell Mama and Papa any of this. They’ll think you’re even crazier than I think you are.”

“Sybil, you _have_ to believe me,” Edith said, nearly at the end of her rope. “If Matthew’s gone and bit Mary, he’s probably going to come after us soon. Don’t you see? He’s got something planned, something that involves all of us —!”

“Stop, Edith!” Sybil cried, holding up both her hands. Just the thought of being bitten by a vampire sent a chill up and down her spine. “Alright, whatever you say, Matthew bit Mary,” she said rapidly. “But I asked you what you’re going to do about it, if you’re going to do anything at all. Even if you managed to convince Mama and Papa that what you said is true, they’d probably have both of them staked!”

“You actually think they’d do that?” Edith asked, horrified.

“I can’t imagine Papa being sympathetic to something that isn’t human, or his dog,” Sybil stated. “But even if they aren’t like normal people, Mary’s still our sister and Matthew’s still the heir. Would you be able to kill them on the grounds that they’re vampires?”

Edith hesitated. There were countless times when she wished that Mary would die merely because they were so horrid to each other. But if that actually came to pass … Edith was not entirely sure what she would do. If her sister was little better than a vicious beast, then she would not refrain from taking the most dire of measures.

“I don’t _want_ to have to kill them,” Edith said. “But if they start biting and turning other people into vampires, then that would be the only choice we have.”

“I concur that two vampires in one house is enough,” Sybil agreed. “Although, right now, neither of us knows what they’ll do. No one else has died or reported being ill, so they haven’t done anything yet. I think we ought to wait before jumping to any more conclusions or move in for the kill.”

“If one of us ends up either dead or undead—!” Edith started angrily. There was a knock on the door that made both girls start.

“Girls?” called their mother, her voice slightly muffled. “Do you intend to wait up here until the food is no longer edible?”

“We’re coming Mama,” answered Sybil.

She turned back to Edith. “You do realize that Matthew’s going to be at dinner —”

“What?” Edith interjected, her heart almost stopping. “No – when did you hear that?” Her panic increased tenfold.

“Mama said, just before the gong. And that Napier person is downstairs as well,” Sybil added.

Edith did not know the extent of Matthew’s powers, but she figured she and Sybil would be in less danger if they acted completely unconscious of what he really was. She certainly would not be able to do anything in front of the rest of her family with regards to confronting Matthew.

“Act like you don’t know a thing,” she instructed Sybil. “You can’t breath a single syllable of it to anyone.”

“I promise I won’t,” Sybil vowed, opening the door. “I still think you’re mad, though.”

“That’s the least of our problems,” Edith muttered.

 

* * *

 

Edith’s anxiety escalated as soon as she saw Matthew downstairs. He looked the same as ever – little had altered in his pallid appearance, but Edith was now viewing him through a different window. Matthew did not divulge anything malignant in his gestures and speech, but Edith knew better: there were secrets he was concealing, secrets of a more vicious character.

When his eyes met hers for a single heartbeat, she felt a twinge of fear run through her like an electric shock. She tried her best to remain calm and collected, mindful that anyone around her would sense her discomposure and inquire to what the matter was. Edith was hardly a convincing liar, and she would rather feign repose than fabricate a poor explanation to her agitation. She noticed Sybil suffering from apparent discomfort as well, a rare sight to behold. Sybil tended to be the bold girl, unflinching at most risks, but if she was visibly intimidated, then Edith became even more nervous. She grimaced, wondering if, at this very second, Matthew was staring right into their souls and picking up on their fear. Paranoia was close to overtaking her.

Everybody else was, of course, completely unaware of Matthew’s secret. Seated at the dining table, Papa asked him, “How was Mary feeling today?”

“Well, she is still rather out of sorts, but she seemed to be in better spirits than I anticipated,” Matthew answered. “Though neither one of us had an idea as to what ails her, she said she was beginning to feel more herself.”

Edith bit her lip as Papa replied, “I’m glad this horrid spell is passing quickly then. I only hope that no one else will contract the same ailment.”

“I hope the same as well,” Matthew said.

Mr Napier, who was sitting beside Edith, asked, “What exactly did you say to Lady Mary?”

Matthew’s eyes narrowed, an action not ignored by Edith, but he did not question Mr Napier’s query. “I told her not to be afraid,” he said.

Mr Napier looked down at his plate, his eyes boring straight below. Unless she was mistaken, Edith could swear she saw a trace of moisture at his hairline. What could _he_ possibly be nervous about?

With a dubious look in his eye, Mr Napier asked Matthew, “Afraid of what, if I may be so bold to inquire?”

Matthew looked at him subtly, and Mr Napier lowered his eyes again. A near-invisible droplet of perspiration soaked into his hair.

“Lady Mary was merely concerned that her ailment would do irreversible damage to her mind and body. I don’t, however, believe that anything adverse will happen to her,” Matthew said.

Edith itched to confront him for his devilish crime, and his affection of innocence made her blood boil. Sitting at the table, she had to restrain herself from flinging a knife at his head (she did doubt that such a punishment would kill him). She knew Sybil would be too scared to do anything, an odd turn of personality since Sybil tended to jump without looking where she was to land, but if she still held a sliver of doubt to Edith’s story, then she wouldn’t lift a finger. Obviously, she was still convinced that there was more to the tale than Edith knew, but what more could there be? Edith was adamant that she herself had to do something, lest another terrible event occurred.

She had once perceived Matthew to be a decent man. It had not been wholly unreasonable to go after him, since Mary wasn’t showing the slightest interest in getting close to him. The day Mary had gone hunting with Evelyn Napier and the rest of the hunting party, Edith had taken Matthew to several old churches to fulfil his request to learn more about the county (though she now interpreted that as deflecting any suspicion of him being a monster). She had genuinely enjoyed his company, but eventually it became clear that he was more interested in Mary. Of course now Edith saw what his interest in Mary had led to. She hated him for what he did to her own sister.

As the others began to move into the drawing room, Edith pulled Sybil aside, close to where the guests' coats and hats were hanging.

“What is it now?” Sybil asked irately, but as she spoke, she noticed Edith’s right hand gripping something of thin silver: a knife, swiped from the dining room.

“Edith, what are you planning?” she asked, certain that Edith really _was_ losing her mind. “Don’t tell me you’re going after Matthew.”

“I’ve got to do something, and the sooner the better,” Edith said, trying to sound more reasonable than she really was being.

“You really have gone insane,” Sybil breathed. “I understand that you want to fix this yourself, but it’s much too—!”

“Sybil, hush!” Edith hissed, sensing the servants’ movement just around the corner.

“It’s much too senseless,” continued Sybil, a little softer this time. “You cannot honestly hope to prove that Matthew’s a vampire by running him through with a knife. And I don’t want anything to happen to _you._ ”

“Don’t talk to me about what is senseless, Sybil,” Edith said harshly. “If Papa asks where I’ve gone, tell him I went out for a walk to clear my head. If I’m not back in a little while, alert somebody – I don’t mind who.”

The door to the drawing room opened, and Edith pushed Sybil back into the shadows, both of them holding their breath. Edith glanced up briefly, seeing Matthew exit the room, cast in the amber glow of the lamps inside, followed by Thomas Barrow.

“Is he leaving?” Sybil asked, whispering straight into Edith’s ear.

“I believe so,” Edith murmured. “This is my chance – I’m going to go right now.”

Sybil shook her head violently. “No! How many times do I have to—?

She suddenly quieted as Thomas gathered Matthew’s coat and hat, only about three feet away from where the girls were cowering. Being caught by Thomas would be about as unfortunate as being noticed by Matthew.

“Wait here, Mr Crawley, I'll call for Taylor to bring the car around.”

“That won't be necessary, I'd rather walk tonight,” Matthew could be heard saying.

The girls waited in perfect silence, the very worst outcomes passing through their imaginations, until the heavy front door closed behind Matthew.

“Edith, you’ve gone mad!” Sybil exclaimed, inhaling deeply after holding her breath for so long.

“Say what you will, but I am going to do it,” Edith said with determination. She did not care if her own sister thought she was demented; she’d take insanity over vampirism any day.

“If what you think is true, and if Matthew hurts you, none of us will be any better off,” Sybil said.

Edith could hear sincere worry in Sybil’s voice, but she was losing her chance now. How long had it been since Matthew left? There was no time to waste, since she saw little opportunity to confront him in the future.

Without another word, she turned away and became to creep towards the front door. She was aware that Sybil was watching her intently, but she did not look behind her, else she would have to receive Sybil railing against her further. She managed to slip outside without alerting the servants, with was a lucky feat in itself. Hopefully, luck would stay with her.

In her normal state of mind, she would have recognized what she was planning as utter madness, but she was blinded with fear and her wish to avenge that terror. She wanted to hurt Matthew as much as she could, even if it cost her her own life, which it probably would.

The night air was like cold water on her skin. The sun had already set and thus provided no warmth to Edith, who was hardly dressed for a nightly walk. She caught sight of Matthew on the path back to the village – it was advantageous to Edith that he had declined the chauffeur's services. She shivered, not only from the cold, but what would happen to her if Matthew discovered what her intentions were. How would any creature such as himself react? Violently and ruthlessly, that was for certain.

_Let’s finish this, fast,_ Edith said to herself. In her satin gloved hand, she clenched the knife, not allowing Matthew out of her sight. He was about a hundred feet away, and if she was quiet and careful enough, Edith could sneak closer behind him. Her delicate shoes were impossible to run in, but she managed a gait slightly faster than walking.

The further away she moved from the house, the harder it was to peer through the darkness; by the time she got to the front gates, she might not be able to see him at all. She hoped the cover of night would conceal her as well, and as long as Matthew did not think to look behind him, she would be undetected.

She would hurt him in any way she could, even if she did not inflict serious injury upon him. He had to pay for the terror he was causing to Edith, cursing her sister and beguiling her with lies of retained humanity. _I cannot believe I’m doing this for Mary_ , Edith thought. But the odds were that Mary was disillusioned by Matthew’s false promises and would not comprehend the wrongs done against her, and as Sybil refused to hurt anyone, it came down to Edith taking matters into her own hands.

She blinked, and he was gone, receded into the curtain of darkness.

Edith stopped abruptly in her tracks, stunned by how suddenly Matthew vanished. Instinctively she held the knife up in an offensive position, ready to strike in case he was playing with her, stealing behind her with his teeth bared. Her heart beat fast enough to make her feel sick, and as she caught various sounds resonating through the air she tensed, knowing he could be the cause of one of those noises. She was gripping the knife so tight that her knuckles turned white, but she held it with both hands, knowing she would require all of her strength to plunge it into Matthew’s flesh. Never in her life had she felt fearfulness like this before, when her life was on the line. Already the scars of fear were being scratched into her brain, leaving their marks to leave her helpless.

When she saw the large bat in the sky, pure black against the midnight blue sky, she staggered back, her eyes widening in trepidation. Her grip on the knife slackened, and it fell onto the gravel path with a bell-like clang. It lay abandoned as Edith ran back to the house, no longer feeling brave.

 

* * *

 

In the dead of the night, just when she was sure the world was silent again, Mary heard the soft, fine scratching at her window. It sounded like a small fingernail scraping against the glass, which Mary’s penetrating hearing discerned more harshly than human ears could.

She was aware of just how acute her hearing had become, which was nearly as strong as her sense of smell. She could name the people who passed by her door by hearing how heavy their footsteps were, and earlier she listened to the staff bustling about during supper. Matthew told her that her heightened senses would become less overwhelming soon, but they would remain more sensitive than any human’s could be. Of course, to Mary, the most excruciating factor was the blood lust. She still craved it so much, even after feeding from Anna, so much that she felt as hollow as a dead tree. It took all of her will not to step outside her door in the middle of the night and … she didn’t dare think of it.

She got up from her bed where she had been lying and unlatched the window. Before she drew back the curtain, she put a name to the scent, but when she saw what entered the room she reeled back in disbelief. She had only a few seconds to feel astonishment before the large black bat took the form of Matthew, still in his tailcoat.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” he said apologetically.

“You didn’t,” Mary said quickly, though truthfully she was unnerved by the fact that Matthew could transfigure into a bat. “I wasn’t sleeping, if that’s what you mean. I can’t sleep at night anymore, or at all for that matter.”

“You’ll be able to, inside a coffin. That is, if you want one,” Matthew said.

He stepped closer to her. Mary could see a small bead of blood at the corner of his mouth. He had just fed, she realized, and she felt a pang of envy – he could fly out and feed without losing control of himself, while she was still a prisoner to her irrepressible lust. Matthew quickly licked the bloody residue from his protruding teeth. He did not hide his fangs when he was around Mary – it made her feel like she was not the only monster in the room since she could not retract her own fangs just yet.

“I know you’re hungry,” Matthew said. He drew back his sleeve, enough to expose his wrist. Mary could smell the distinct fragrance – the blood Matthew had drunk just a few moments before. It was not as cloying as it had been when Anna had come into her room, but it nevertheless enticed Mary with such enriching taste.

Matthew sat down next to her on the bed and lifted his wrist closer to her mouth, the veins flowing with blood. Mary did not need an explanation to understand what he was offering her.

“You cannot starve,” Matthew said, before Mary could object. “The change will last longer and become more painful if you do.”

Mary looked at him timidly. “Will it hurt you?”

“It would take more than a small bite to create pain for me,” Matthew said. One corner of his mouth curved up in a slight smile. “And don’t worry about my blood mixed in; the venom won’t harm you in any way.”

Tentatively, Mary took Matthew’s wrist in her hands and brought it up to her lips. She was intimidated by this intimacy, but she had no other choice. She was already being driven mad with the everlasting hunger, but Matthew was giving her salvation.

Mary rested her fangs on a large vein momentarily before biting down. The rich-tasting blood instantly filled her mouth, and with each swallow she took it slid down her throat with soothing rapture. It was not as warm as the blood she had drunk from Anna, but it was nearly as palatable, and Mary did not mind the taste of Matthew’s blood that was mingling with the unknown human’s. She struggled to remain gentle in the beginning, but as she regained her energy she became less incensed in her feeding. Had she been conscious of her moans of satisfaction, she would have felt a storm of embarrassment, but Matthew hardly cared that she was emitting lustful groans while locked onto his wrist.

It was an unfamiliar experience for him as well: he was letting Mary drink from him, sharing the blood that he had taken just to give to her. There was a striking degree of intimacy in this gesture, but he felt that it was his responsibility to take care of her. How long had it been since he had looked after another kindred soul? Not in his immortal life had he such a sense of duty as he felt now.

When Mary had drunk most of the human blood, Matthew gently drew his wrist away from her mouth. The circular indents her fangs had made began to heal immediately, and Mary watched, enraptured, as the wound closed itself up.

“See?” Matthew said. “You haven’t done any permanent damage.”

Turning away from him so he would not see her evident diffidence, Mary licked at the blood around her mouth and on her teeth. With her hunger quenched again, she could survive another night without the pain of her thirst. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“I’ll come tomorrow, if you wish,” he proposed.

“I can imagine that I’ll return to feeling as thirsty as I usually am,” Mary said.

Matthew regarded her sympathetically. “You won’t always feel this way. There will always be the thirst, but you will gain control over it.”

“I hope I will, soon,” Mary said. “Else my parents will send doctor after doctor to cure me.”

“I’ve convinced your father that you are getting better,” Matthew said. “So I doubt you’ll have legions of doctors invading your room.”

Against her usual character, Mary smiled at him. In an instant, her disposition toward Matthew had changed, and even she could not fathom it. But she appreciated his caring act, for it meant that there was one more ally, albeit an unlikely one, looking out for her.

 


	6. Night Terror

Gradually, Mary’s thirst for blood did lessen. Every day she felt her hunger subside a little bit less, no longer becoming so overwhelming a desire. When a human walked past her bedroom she could still smell their blood, but it no longer watered her mouth so potently, even when she thought of it. She knew the thirst would return, but it never tormented her so brutally now. For the first time in a while, Mary felt she was somewhat her normal self once again.

Her skin was still ghostly pale, but she awoke one day to find that her eyes were brown again and her fangs had receded, though her eyeteeth were still rather sharp. Now that she no longer looked so monstrous, she was irrefutably convinced that a normal life, or a semblance of one, was within her grasp. That rainy afternoon, she visited her family having tea in the library, and everyone – except Edith – was in visibly high spirits. Though her eyes needed a long period of adjustment, Mary could tolerate light that was not too brilliant, though she heeded Matthew’s warning that she might not find the sunlight so endurable. She remained in the house, although no longer confined to the darkness of her bedroom.

Edith’s mood, on the contrary, had not improved. She had hardly slept soundly since the night she had seen Matthew fly away in the dark as a large black bat. She was far too paranoid that seeing that uncanny transformation was merely the beginning of insanity. Fearfulness kept her mind wandering to the belief that Mary or Matthew would come for her in the middle of the night to suck her blood. Edith only now admitted how foolish she had been in trying to chase down a vampire with a dinner knife, especially one that was hardly sharp.

She was now terrified of Matthew, terrified of what he was capable of. Even the mention of his name sent Edith fleeing from the room with the excuse of an ailment of some kind. With Matthew having bitten Mary, could he somehow manipulate her to bring more chaos down on their heads? An image of Mary attacking the family and the servants while Matthew admired his satanic handiwork with a cunning smile kept Edith up for hours one night. She didn't speak to either Mary or Matthew on account of her fear, which confounded Mary to the point of annoyance.

Having Mary rejoin the family on most occasions was distressing enough for Edith, but to feign calmness tonight, when Matthew was dining with the family as well, was hopeless. Aside from Sybil, she was the only one aware just how out of the common Mary and Matthew were, their ashen faces indicating how like living corpses they were. Most others deemed Mary’s sudden civility with Matthew to be a positive turn of events, but Edith was cognizant of the true circumstances behind it.

Earlier, she saw how noticeable the shadows under her own eyes were, and she felt more fatigued than if she had sprinted to London. Now, with her conscience reminding that there were two pitiless monsters sitting at close to her at the table, her heart seemed to throb ceaselessly, threatening to tear through her chest before dinner was finished.

“Edith, are you alright?” Matthew asked suddenly.

Her pounding heart skipped a beat when she heard his voice. She forced herself to look at him for a second, and his eyes seemed to bore a hole through her soul. She still wanted to drive the knife on her plate through his heart, but she no longer had the strength or nerve to attempt such idiocy again.

“Actually, I’m not feeling particularly well. May I be excused?” she asked of Papa.

“Of course. I hope you are not becoming ill as well,” he said.

“No, I think I’m … I’m simply tired,” Edith said, hoping she would convince her parents to let her be. She hurried away from the dining room as swiftly as she could – she could not bear the eyes of those two demons staring at her.

“Dear me,” she heard her grandmother, the Dowager countess say. “I do hope this isn't an outbreak of the bubonic plague and we'll all have to dig our own graves.”

“Oh, Granny,” Mary scoffed.

 

* * *

 

Edith lay in bed, and though her head was tired, she could not feel sleepiness in the slightest. She was losing count of how many nights she had gone without a peaceful rest. She did not know what to do about it, but she was certain that the reason behind it was her discovery of Mary and Matthew’s shared secret.

Her mind contemplated how she would survive living in the same house as Mary. It was a dilemma that she had pondered since she was born, as they tended to be at each other’s throats much of the time, but now Mary was actually threatening to be at her throat with sharp teeth bared. Since Mary had withdrew from the confines of her bedroom, the chance that she would enter – even _now_ was entering – the bedrooms in Downton Abbey to bite and infect the unaware seemed high to Edith. Who would it happen to first? Her parents? Sybil? Herself?

She realized she could not stay in this house any longer. Even if Mary and Matthew were not planning to execute some horror for a while, Edith felt her sense of safety de-materializing with each tick of the clock. Her Aunt Rosamund was in London: she could ask to stay there for some time, until she was certain that her fear was mere paranoia. But then there was the guilt that she was leaving the rest of her family to a grisly fate – what was she to do, though, but save her own skin?

In a calmer state, Edith would have dismissed such notions of brainless actions, but there was little that could soothe her fear-stricken imagination. It was her mind that was the true enemy, which plagued her with nightmarish thoughts that she believed she had no control over. Edith knew what her brain was doing to her, what her delusions had brought on, and it was keeping the repulsion of her own sister and cousin intact. Her paranoia was so strong that she thought perhaps, just perhaps, even in London, she would still see blood-red eyes in her sleep in London – a lustful, seething colour that even now seemed to be watching her …

With a jolt of alarm, Edith sat up and stared at the two red specks of light straight across the room. It was as if they were looking right at her, watching like a beast in the brush who was waiting to snatch small prey. The red pinpricks were the only colour in her pitch-black room, and they shone dully through the darkness. Edith’s heart began to pound in her chest, and her breathing grew heavy. The skin on her arms had turned cold and goosebumps had risen, as if a chill had drifted into the room. The room was silent as the depth of night, save for Edith’s panicked gasping.

“Who’s in my room?” she called out, voice trembling with the utmost dread. “Mary? Is that you?”

From the shadows close to the window came a spectre-like figure, white-faced and listless, gazing greedily at her terrified sister with ruby-red irises. Edith tried to distance herself from her approaching sister, but some unseen force held her down to the mattress. It was as if her legs were tied down tightly with invisible cords. She tried to scream, but the sound caught in her throat, and it emerged as a muted groan. She lay there, helpless as a trussed-up fly, as Mary climbed onto her bed, kneeling over her, prevent any possibility of escape. Edith’s eyes were wide as she looked up at her now inhuman sister, who was smiling through her savage fangs – she was far more monstrous than Edith had envisioned.

“Mary, please don’t … I-I-” she stammered.

Mary placed a long, cold finger on Edith’s lips. The cut nail was a hair away from nicking Edith’s skin.

“You will stay quiet,” Mary said smoothly, like a mother soothing her child so it would not cry. Edith shivered at Mary’s touch, but she had lost the will to utter another sound. Mere inches from her face, Mary was licking her lips, and that was the only indicator Edith needed to know what she had on her mind.

At another dark spot in the room, close to the fireplace, Edith could see two more red specks peering through the shadows. As Matthew emerged from the cover of unyielding darkness, a shiver ran down Edith’s spine. Each of her limbs had become enervated in an instant, and whether from alarm or something else, she could not say.

“Do you recognize this?” Matthew said softly, dangerous as any predator. In his spidery fingers dangled the knife that Edith had tried to attack him with. It seemed sharper than her memory recalled, but perhaps it was due to his talon-like nails reflected in the silver.

“I think she does,” Mary said, looking down at Edith with gleaming eyes. Edith could not look away from that livid white face as it leered at her.

Edith attempted to shift away as Matthew walked to the side of the bed, but Mary exerted enough force on her shoulders to weaken her arms severely. Mary grinned fiendishly as Edith grunted through the stinging sensation in her muscles.

“She’s in pain,” said Mary in a childish tone. “Poor little Edith.”

“Don’t worry, Mary,” Matthew crooned, “she’s going to have much worse things coming to her.”

His cruel smile showed the pale lips drawn back from the sharp, white teeth, and he was so close to Edith that she was certain that he’d sink those teeth into her faster than a viper could. The spindly fingers curled around her wrist, grasping tightly with immense strength. The dull pressure in her hand, however, was nothing compared to the horror that petrified Edith as the demon held her wrist in his cold hand.

“An insignificant child such as yourself couldn’t put a scratch on me, even if I was standing right in front of you with my heart exposed,” Matthew spoke in his quiet and dangerous voice. “What can a school-girl like you do against something like me?”

Edith wanted to spit in his eye and scream foul words, condemning him for turning Mary into the savage creature that was holding her down, but she saw the knife being raised in the air, and any violent thoughts she had quickly dissipated. Matthew lowered the knife again, but this time towards her arm. Edith flinched and her arm twitched as it sensed the blade moving closer, but Matthew’s grip was unyielding. He did not hesitate in pressing the thin knife blade against the smooth skin just below where he was holding Edith’s wrist, and he pinched the flesh until beads of blood appeared between the wound and the knife blade.

“You’re merely a spring of blood, a mass of flesh which tears so easily,” Matthew hissed. He removed the blade from her skin, running a light finger over the narrow wound; it was welling up with blood. There was a sadistic glint in his red eyes, which did not go unnoticed by Edith. She was gasping in terror, which overshadowed the pain of the laceration on her arm. She knew what was going to happen, even before Matthew took her wrist in his claw-tipped fingers and lifted it closer to himself.

“Matthew,” Mary whispered, enraptured by the minuscule ruby beads forming quickly on Edith’s arm. “Let me …”

“Patience, Mary,” Matthew chided gently. “You’ll have your time to drink soon enough.”

Mary watched, envious, as he pressed his cold lips against the bleeding wrist. Edith sobbed a strained, raspy gasp, the closest sound to a scream that she could make. The sensation of Matthew drawing out her blood, forcefully sucking on her wrist, made her feel sick enough to retch, but it lasted only a few seconds. As Edith regained control over her hysterical gasping, Matthew straightened coldly and spat out the blood in his mouth. It splattered onto the floor, spreading out in a gory stain.

“Vile! I've never tasted such bitterness,” he said harshly. “But what could I expect from a girl whose face is so ... unfortunate.” His red eyes remarked Edith with savage guile.

“Am I to have nothing tonight?” Mary whimpered, looking at Matthew with a simper.

“Take her at your will,” he answered, “but only if you believe you can tolerate the taste of her.”

Upon seeing her sister’s look of distress, Mary laughed low in her throat. By now, Edith was so subdued that all she could do was lie still and listen to the two monsters speaking, each word laden with unsuppressed wickedness. How much longer would she be able to bear this nightmare for? Would Mary really dare to suck out her blood as Matthew toyed with her like a cat with a mouse?

As if her fears were being answered, Mary’s head dipped low and her tongue shot out like a snake’s, briefly wetting the skin on Edith’s throat. Edith cringed, disgusted by Mary’s animalistic behaviour – but she did not say one word as Mary’s tongue returned to her mouth, this time to lap at the moisture on her sharp white teeth.

“He’s right,” she said, her eyes looking sideways in Matthew’s direction. “You don’t seem as – appetizing – as the others we’ve feasted on.”

She smiled coquettishly, as if remembering each midnight repast with delight. A ball of abhorrence churned violently in Edith’s stomach.

“But, after all, you _are_ such a sad, lonely girl,” she continued, her voice growing as menacing as Matthew’s. “Not even Patrick could stand the sight of you, and he was as dull-witted as you are—”

Perhaps it was the contempt of Mary’s mention of Patrick, or some other force born from her panic, but Edith spat out an enraged, “Stop!” at Mary. She drew back in surprise, unprepared for the sudden rage that was swelling inside Edith.

“You monster!” Edith snapped, rising off of the pillow. “How can you say that? You can’t do this—!”

A hand slammed against her throat, cutting her outrage short. Edith gasped for breath as Matthew pushed her back down, and fury seemed to darken his features. His face was like hard stone, and his lips were curled in a merciless snarl.

“Look at me,” he commanded. His voice was like unrelenting steel.

Edith had no choice, as the hand clutching her throat reached up to turn her jaw to the side. She could only look straight into his infernal eyes, and it was only now as she stared up at him that she realized just how _red_ they were – it was the colour of something that came from deep within Hell.

As those hellish eyes stared down at her, a burning sensation spread through her body, starting close to her heart before radiating outward. Edith felt as if invisible flames were lapping at her flesh, that she had been dropped into the fires of a volcano; she groaned pathetically as the heat seared her insides. She writhed violently, her hands involuntarily scratching at her breast. There was a tenacious strain on her limbs, as if a dozen people had grabbed her arms tightly, purging her of her last ounce of strength. She moaned louder, almost screaming, as the pressure seemed to break the bones in her arms. All the while, Matthew kept his intractable gaze on her, his mind working the torture onto Edith. Mary watched her sister toss and turn painfully, her tongue still wolfishly licking around her mouth.

When Matthew lifted his gaze and broke eye contact, the pain tormenting Edith subsided as quickly as it had grown. Coolness rushed through her to replace the invisible fire, and she gulped down the frigid air to try and slow her pounding heart.

“I _can_ do whatever I want with you,” Matthew said sinisterly. “You are a mere human; you are ours to control.”

His eyes seemed ablaze, just as they had seconds before he had tortured her. Edith shrivelled up. “Please, don’t!” she cried.

Mary gave a low growl. “What will it take for you to stay quiet?” she hissed through her fangs. “If you do not do as we say, you’ll have to be punished again.”

The pain from before came again, but it lasted only a few seconds. Still, Edith could not suppressed her cry of agony from the burning inside of her. The burning sensation was even stronger now, so much that her entire body could have been submerged in a bath of boiling water.

“So vulnerable,” Mary said as Edith relaxed once more. “Such a pathetic little girl. I’d take from you every single night just to see you squirm like a worm on a hook, if I could.”

“Go ahead, then,” Matthew said to her. “Watch her squirm some more.”

Both Edith and Mary understood what he was saying, but before Edith could object, Mary’s sharp teeth were already biting down into her throat. Through her own sobs, Edith heard Mary’s moans of pleasure – how truly sadistic she was to enjoy the suffering she was causing! The pain started to slip away as Edith began to feel faint, yet the feeling of her blood being sucked from her neck remained. She envisioned herself as the helpless, tortured prisoner, weakened from the vampires’ manipulations.

“Do not hope to think that we are finished with you,” she could hear Matthew say maliciously. “Through me and Mary there will be more creatures such as ourselves, for whom you will serve as sustenance. One night, perhaps even _you_ will have the honour of joining our ranks.”

Mary lifted her head, lips painted red from Edith’s blood. “I’ll make you _beg_ for it – you’ll be so desperate for what we have to offer that you’ll be on your knees, begging for a new life.”

“We control you,” Matthew continued. “And if you dare to fight us …”

He raised a hand over Edith’s face, ready to send painful revulsions through her once more, to watch her scream and thrash for their pleasure. Edith recoiled, knowing what was about to happen again, and in her hysteria she finally exerted a shattering scream.

“ _Edith! Edith, wake up!”_

A voice, barely audible through her own cries, was calling out to her. Edith did not know for sure if it was her imagination; it seemed too distant to be real. Yet Matthew seemed to have heard the voice as well, for his attention was drawn away from Edith and he removed his hand from her sight.

Edith screamed again, hoping whoever was calling would hear her. In the span of a heartbeat, Mary’s bloody face dissolved as if it were made of smoke, and so did Matthew’s.

Light flooded the room, banishing the shadows where the vampires had hidden. Someone was shaking her, gripping her arms with warm, life-filled hands. She was saved!

“Edith, can you hear?” She recognized that voice; it belonged to her mother. She opened her eyes and saw her mama bent over her. Her father and Sybil were standing at the foot of her bed, both looking quite alarmed. Mama was frantic, but a smile of relief spread across her face as soon as Edith ceased her twisting about.

“Are you alright, my darling?” her mother asked. “Was it a nightmare?”

“What? What was—?” Edith was confused at first – how could all of it have been a dream? Her head snapped around her neck, looking for any trace for the monstrous creatures, but there was not even a trace of blood on the sheets to indicate they were ever there. The dinner knife had vanished, and so had the wound on her wrist. The skin there as well as on her throat was not damaged in the slightest.

“You were screaming so much,” Mama explained. She touched Edith’s forehead tenderly. “Heavens, you're burning up! Do you feel sick at all?”

Edith was about to reply, but she caught movement at the doorway. Anna entered briskly with a washbasin and a cloth, followed by Mary, who had evidently been sent to fetch her maid. But as soon as she saw Mary, Edith jolted violently, expecting to see the demonic features that had plagued her dream.

“Darling, what’s the matter?” Mama said. “You’re awake now, everything is absolutely fine.”

Edith calmed down just enough to take a look at Mary. She was standing across the room in her nightgown, but her face was clean, and there was no inkling of her true self that was visible. In fact, she was just as bewildered as everybody else. Every vestige of sinisterness and malevolence that had been there a moment ago had vanished completely.

_It really was a dream_ , Edith thought. But how much of it was a dream? She lay on her bed, sweating and shivering while Anna bathed her forehead with a cool damp cloth.

“Do you need anything, milady?” Anna asked.

“No,” Edith breathed, swallowing the sickness that she felt rising in her throat.

Mary looked over at her sister, who was shaking as if overtaken by an illness. She had been so frightened when she heard the screams that sounded exactly like she was being cut open. In the back of her mind she had thought that it was Kemal Pamuk, come to claim another life. Thank goodness it had only been a dream – yet with the feverish hue that Edith now possessed, it could not have been an ordinary nightmare.

Edith's eyes met with hers, and suddenly traces of thoughts flooded Mary's head. She could not explain how it was happening, but she could hear Edith’s voice like she was whispering scratchily into her ear.

“ _I ... know ... Matthew ... you ... vampire.”_

Mary stepped backwards and looked at Edith with an alarmed expression, then left the room, with Anna and Mama tending to Edith.

She was in a daze as she walked back to her own bedroom. How long had she known of her secret? Would Edith dare to tell anyone else? Sybil, obviously – Edith trusted Sybil leagues more than Mary – but what about Mama and Papa? Already her secret was slipping out of her control, and she had only just gained a hold on a normal life again. What would become of her if the truth was revealed to all?

 

* * *

 

 

Mary expected Matthew to walk into Downton that next day, most likely to see her father, yet she herself had to speak with him. The trouble of Edith’s dream was pressing heavily on her mind, and she could not figure a solution on her own.

It had been one thing when Anna had discovered what she was: Anna had no reason to reveal her secret to anyone. But Mary admitted that she had teased and tormented Edith mercilessly, and Edith never had a weapon suitable enough to oppose her – until now. Would she dare to gain her revenge by letting slip Mary’s secret? It did not matter if anyone thought it ludicrous or fantastical – Edith had something damning at her disposal, and if she did release it, it would not be long before someone recognized the truth behind it.

She waited in the library for Matthew. Oddly enough, she was the sole person occupying the large room; Mama was perhaps in her private study, but she did not know where Papa or Sybil were. However, there was one certainty – Edith would not dare to be found in the same room as Mary. Of course, she had been avoiding Mary for several days already, and there was no doubt that she would not care for her company any time soon. In order to keep her sister at arm’s length, Edith often took to the outdoors, where Mary did not venture.

Today, however, Edith did not have the safety of the sunlight outside, as since the morning the weather had taken a gloomy turn. The sky was like charcoal and the ground was sodden from the rain during the dawn. Most of those inside the large manor house felt the damp cold penetrate through the windows and walls, but Mary did not mind the chill so. Though she was sitting by a crackling fire, its warmth was not the cause of her invulnerability – it was probable that her own cold skin made her impervious to the wintriness.

When Matthew entered the library in search of Mary, he had already spoken with Lord Grantham on some matters of the estate. He found Mary exactly where she had been waiting for him, on a seat by the fire, a small book in her hand. The firelight and the glow of a single lamp were the only sources of light in the large room; the blaze of the fire formed eerie shadows that danced across her pale face. To Matthew, those shadows made the already-enigmatic woman even more mysterious.

“Mary,” he softly called out to her, “you wished to speak with me?”

Mary looked up. “Is there anyone around?” she said back.

“No.” Matthew was confident in his answer; he could not sense any humans within hearing range of the library. “What is this about?”

Mary set her book aside and beckoned Matthew to come closer. He did so, and as he approached her, he noticed a brief flicker of red in her brown eyes. Despite that, her expression was that of dour concern. As he sat down on the seat directly across from her, he found himself wishing once again that they were closer than they were, so he could reassure and comfort her without appearing presumptuous.

“It’s about Edith,” Mary began.

“Edith?” Matthew had not anticipated Mary’s unease to be on the matter of Lady Edith.

Mary’s voice dropped down to a whisper. “Last night, she was screaming so dreadfully that she woke all of us. She had a nightmare, but I don’t think it was a normal one.”

Her face was etched with apprehension, and she shifted in her seat as if uncomfortable where she was. “When I brought Anna up to her room, Edith reacted rather fearfully – she seemed to be afraid of _me_.”

Matthew felt himself grow cold; he had a foreboding sense to what Mary was going to disclose.

Mary’s voice grew distressed, almost panicked. “She knows about _us_ , about what we are. I don’t know how she figured it out, but she she’s known it for a while; she’s been in such a state since I – recovered, I suppose – and she’s hardly spoken two words to me. She doesn’t even want to be in the same room as you or me.”

“How do you know for certain that Lady Edith knows?” Matthew asked.

Mary spread her hands in equivocalness. “Somehow, I heard her thoughts in my head. They were fragmented, and all I could catch were single words, but she does know the truth. And with the way she looked at me, it couldn’t not have been just from her nightmare.”

Matthew regarded Mary strangely. “You read Edith’s thoughts?”

Mary nodded. “I don’t know how I did it exactly. At the time, I was wondering what was troubling her so, and then while I was looking at her, there was an echo of her voice inside my head.”

The prowess Mary possessed once more astounded Matthew. He himself had not accessed a human’s thoughts so early in his undeath, and even now there was very little necessity to do so. He primarily used his manipulation of humans to keep them sedated as he fed off of them.

“I think,” he started, licking his lips nervously, “perhaps she heard us talking, that first time I came to you.”

Mary looked perplexed, so Matthew went on. “After dinner here, I left to – well, you remember – to find blood for you. And as I was leaving, I sensed someone was behind me. I didn’t think much of it, but when I returned, I spotted a table knife on the ground. Lady Edith’s scent was strong on it.”

Mary was horrified, her eyes wide and her lips parted. “What was she intending to do?”

“Possibly hurt me in some way,” Matthew said. “Don’t look so worried, a little knife like that wouldn’t have hurt me much,” he quickly assured Mary.

“It’s not that – why didn’t you tell me before?” she asked.

“Because until a moment ago, I was not certain that she was, in fact, attempting to harm me,” explained Matthew. “I did not want to believe it, if it was to turn out true.”

Mary frowned. “You did not want to believe that Edith was trying to hurt you?” she repeated. “It doesn’t seem far-fetched to me—”

Something in Matthew’s eyes glistened mirthlessly, as if he were remembering a long-buried memory. Mary fell silent, wishing she hadn’t been so insolent.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” she said quickly.

“There’s nothing you need to apologize for,” Matthew returned, yet Mary could detect a trace of moroseness in his tone.

“That was not the first time someone has wished harm upon me,” he continued. “In four hundred years, she is not the first person to discover what I am, but she is the first I haven’t had to …”

He trailed off, but Mary knew exactly what his unspoken words were. If she were still a normal person, she might have decried his violent deeds, but looking closely at him she could understand that he was remorseful. Downton should have been a place where his secret would remain unrevealed, but even with someone aware of the truth, he had no wish to submerge his hands in blood once more.

“I’m not sure how Lady Edith will live knowing our secret,” Matthew went on, rubbing his temple. “It’s like she is already becoming unstable. I’ve noticed how agitated she’s become in the past few days.”

“But what is she going to do next?” Mary pondered aloud. “She seemed so terrified last night. I realize it sounds mad of me, but I’m afraid that she’ll say something to someone.”

Matthew tensed. “Do you believe she will do that?”

“It would not be unlike her to tell all; when she was young she’d tattle to the governess about every small crisis,” Mary said. She sighed with despondency. “I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I want to tell her that neither of us are trying to frighten her. The way she looked at me – she must be convinced that I’m going to hurt her.”

“I take it that you haven’t tried speaking with her?” Matthew assumed.

“Every time I talk to her, she excuses herself from the room!” Mary exclaimed. “And after last night, I doubt she’d be willing to be in the same room as me for a single moment.” She halted briefly, her brow furrowing from her deliberation. “Perhaps … perhaps I can ask Anna to talk with her.”

Matthew remembered seeing the gaping scar on Anna’s throat. “How did Anna find out?”

Mary shrugged. “I suppose she figured it out just by looking at me. She allowed me to feed on her during my … transition.”

Matthew looked at her with raised eyebrows. He had never imagined someone could be so willing to be bitten by a vampire, even with death a significant possibility. How strange the servants of the aristocracy were in their devotion to their employers.

“But Anna hasn’t told anyone, has she?” he asked.

“She gave me her word that she would not,” Mary insisted.

“And you are certain that Lady Edith has not spoken to anyone else?” Matthew pressed on.

“Well, perhaps she’s told Sybil, but Sybil might not believe her; she does not seem as fearful,” Mary said. “I know no one has said a word to Mama or Papa, but …”

She looked as if she were about to cry; if Edith was scared of her undead family, then Mary was even more afraid of her parents learning of the real reason behind her ‘illness.’ Knowing that she was once again despairing of her situation, Matthew leaned forward and took her trembling hands in his.

“Lady Mary, I can’t say for sure how Lady Edith will deal with his, but I am certain she will not inform your parents of this.”

“No?” Mary asked.

“No. If she’s told Lady Sybil, and she doesn’t fully believe it, then she’s probably realizing that no one else will. On top of that, I’m hoping that she’ll soon understand that we mean no evil upon her.”

Mary ran her thumb along Matthew’s long fingers, considering his reasoning. “I hope you are right, because if you are, then it’s one less thing to worry about,” she said.

“And if Anna is able to convince her that we are not what she thinks we are, then she won’t breathe a single word to your parents,” Matthew added.

“That’s a relief,” Mary murmured. “I’d hate to see Papa’s reaction if he came to know about us.”

“Then we can only hope that he will not find out,” Matthew concluded.

He dreaded Lord Grantham – or anybody else, for that matter – finding out his secret. He was becoming more acquainted with the earl with each passing day, but no level of familiarity could provide him with a clear insight as to his response to figuring out the heir to the estate and his eldest daughter were vampires. Not even Mary could hazard a guess.

Without warning, Matthew’s eyes flashed red for several seconds. He stood up quickly, scanning the dark room with penetrating eyesight. His expression had grown severe, and in the span of a few seconds he had become predatorial.

“What is it?” Mary looked about the library as well. She too was faintly sensing something amiss.

“We are not alone anymore,” Matthew said, bringing his voice down to a hushed tone. “Someone has been listening to us.”

“One of the servants?” Mary asked.

Matthew did not answer her immediately. He stepped around the red settee, nostrils flaring as he padded carefully towards the small library. There was no sound in his movement. Mary followed close behind him, catching the smell of a human – and there was fear in the scent.

The small library was dark, but Matthew did not need one speck of light to determine where the human was concealed. What were they doing, if not attempting to escape?

He stopped next to the entryway, close to the wall separating the libraries. There was muffled breathing nearby, like someone pressing a hand to their face to quell their noisy panting. Matthew outstretched a grasping hand into the dark corner, and a strangled cry was uttered from the person he had seized. Matthew slammed the man against the column beside the entryway, holding him a few inches off the ground.

“Mr Napier!” Mary gasped.

Evelyn Napier’s fingers raked at the hand around his throat, but Matthew’s grip was as hard as stone. Mary was not sure whether to feel admonishing towards Evelyn’s spying or startled by Matthew’s unforeseen viciousness. His fangs were extended in an inimical snarl.

“Tell me, Mr Napier,” Matthew said, his voice calculating and menacing. “What purpose do you have in eavesdropping on our conversation?”

He allowed his grip to slacken a bit to enable Evelyn to speak, but the man remained silent. Either he was too dumbfounded to say anything or too foolish. His eyes darted toward Mary in a mute plea for help. Mary, however, was not feeling much sympathy for Evelyn.

“Don’t make me look into your mind for an answer,” Matthew growled, leaning in close to Evelyn. “I know there’s something you’ve been hiding.”

Mary moved aside, close to where Evelyn had been hiding. Her heel knocked against a stray object on the floor, issuing a light clapping sound. Evelyn shook his head frantically as Mary stooped low and rose again with a short wooden stake in her hand. It was cut to a long point on one end, the single splinter sticking out as thin as a needle. Mary did not like holding it; it was like holding a sharp knife close to her, aware that it was capable of tearing through her chest and shredding her insides.

Matthew’s eyes were glowing red with a storm of fury. “How many of us were you intending to kill with that?”

“Just you,” Evelyn spat out. “Lady Mary is supposed to stay – well, in the land of the living.”

“Why? What for?” Mary cried. She too was feeling a torrent of anger, the roots of murderous instincts forming.

Evelyn’s voice was shaky, and he spoke in a frenzied panic. “Kemal Pamuk! He told me to keep Mr Crawley from growing too fond of his Lady Mary! I have to do whatever it takes.”

Matthew’s grip tightened, and Evelyn gulped for air. “Why submit yourself to such a futile task? I doubt you would have gotten close enough to nick me with that thing.”

A corner of Evelyn’s mouth quirked up, though Matthew recognized it as an attempt to seem more confident. “I was hoping to catch you on your way out. If I speared through your heart with that stake, all you would become is a crumble of dust, and Mr Pamuk would have no opposition for Lady Mary’s heart.”

Matthew’s glare was so predatory that Mary was afraid he’d finish Evelyn off in an instant. His fingers were curled stiffly around Evelyn’s throat, and the shine in his red eyes was so terrible that Mary could never imagine Matthew to harbour such rage.

“I am surprised at you, Mr Napier, for following through with this inane plan,” he said quietly, like a snake hissing. “I know in your heart you are better than a witless mercenary. What would _you_ gain with me dead and Lady Mary in Mr Pamuk’s control? What has that bastard promised you?”

Evelyn was beginning to go weak, but a gleam of elation shone in his eyes as he enunciated a single word, “Immortality.”

Matthew’s expression now, at the very least, did not look so hard. He released his hold on Evelyn, and the latter man stumbled to the ground, his knees nearly buckling. Mary watched Evelyn cower against the column he had been held up against, staring up at Matthew with unmitigated submission, and she was shocked at her own lack of clemency.

“Vampirism is no reward; it is an eternal curse,” Matthew said to Evelyn. “How do we appear to you: powerful? beautiful? Have you ever stopped to consider just how lonely this godforsaken life can be? Kemal Pamuk has deceived you into thinking that immortality is a gift, but he will only condemn you to an eternity of leeching off of humans, forcing you to relinquish the warmth of life, to hide in the darkness forever.”

“But if I do not fulfil my task, he will kill me,” Evelyn whimpered.

“Then you will have a better death than the sort Lady Mary and I are living through,” Matthew said.

Evelyn quivered, struck with a real fear. He looked very close to fainting.

“Do not go back to Pamuk,” Matthew instructed. “Do not keep yourself bound to that fiend—”

“I cannot! I cannot escape him!” Evelyn cried, and he reached up to his collar and pulled it away from his neck. Two raw puncture wounds sat just above his jugular vein, dark from the bruise reaching around his throat. “He’s done it so many times they don’t even heal anymore. I’m certain he knows where I always am. I'm his quarry when he want's to feed, and that's all I am to him. I do not even know the full extent of his scheme.”

“Is he that powerful?” Matthew inquired.

“He’s as powerful as he is deranged,” Evelyn answered. Calmness was creeping back into his voice.

Mary and Matthew looked at each other, and they both realized Evelyn Napier’s situation was hopeless. If he was to have any form of release, death was the only option.

“Evelyn,” Mary spoke placidly, “I know you don’t want to, but do this for me: go back to Kemal, and tell him that whatever he does, whatever his plan is, he will never have me. I do not belong to him, even if he made me what I am.”

Evelyn nodded gravely – those might be the last words he ever spoke aloud. “Give my regards to your parents,” he said soberly.

With that, he walked out of sight, silently slipping out of Downton.

Mary and Matthew returned to sit in the library, both of them waiting for their outrage to subside. Wrath was not an alien emotion to Matthew, but he had not felt it in a long time – and he was surprised at himself for not outright killing Mr Napier.

“Kemal turned me so I could ‘belong’ to him forever,” Mary apprehended. “He said it when he bit me. But what is his plan? How in God’s name does he intend to take me?” She racked her brains for an answer, but if not even Evelyn knew for certain, how would she know?

Matthew’s eyes flickered red again, though it was from a passionate determination more than rage. “You will never belong to him, not as long as he walks this earth. I won’t let that happen to you.”

 

* * *

 

Evelyn Napier boarded the train back to London. In one aspect, his conscience did feel lighter: Mr Pamuk’s wicked plan was ruined, though only partially. Already several people were aware of Lady Mary’s secret, and Matthew Crawley was becoming increasingly closer to her. Pamuk would have to fight very hard to obtain her for himself – but even being his confidante, Evelyn did not know how he would use the other weapons he had in his arsenal. For instance, what part did the newspaper magnate play in this scheme? And how long would Pamuk wait before ensnaring Lady Mary in the trap he was crafting?

He, like Edith, feared the cruelty of a vampire, but only he had the reasonable surety of being destroyed by it.

 

* * *

 

“You fool! You incompetent cur!”

“Please listen to me, I beg of you, I could not prevent it!” Mr Napier was practically on his knees, hands clasped, pleading for mercy he knew would not be given. Kemal Pamuk towered over him, red eyes blazing with tempestuous fury, a demoniac wrath consuming his body.

“I gave you one simple task –”

“Master Pamuk, it was not as easy –” Mr Napier implored.

“Enough, you snivelling dog!” Pamuk spat. “You are about as useful as a rat.”

“How much could I do?” his thrall cried angrily. “Have you tried to conceal a vampire from a house full of people —?”

The blow cracked across his face; it was as if long daggers had slashed across his cheek. He touched his face gingerly and his fingertips became red and wet.

Kemal’s voice was so dangerous the words themselves could have been liquified into poison. He said steadily, “I had great faith in you Napier. I was certain your facilities could be put to good use. But you have gone and failed me, so many times over. Even when you knew what the penalty for negligence was. I am sorry it has come to this, but I do not feel you are worthy of any mercy.”

“Then,” Mr Napier gulped, struggling to stand stall, “I resign myself to your punishment.”

Kemal blinked, visibly surprised. “This is an odd turn of character,” he remarked, regarding Mr Napier curiously. “Just a few days ago you claimed you would do anything for immortality.”

“I-I do not want to live any longer as y-your puppet,” Mr Napier stated, his voice quivering slightly. “And I-I would much rather die a slave than live forever as a monster like you.”

Kemal eyed him inquisitively. “This change of mind would not, by any chance, have anything to do with Lady Mary?”

Mr Napier trembled, and his courage receded briefly. “N-no, of course not.”

Kemal laughed bitterly. “Don’t think you can hide your real thoughts from me: it _is_ about Lady Mary. I’ve seen the way you look at her, so jealous of those she favours. Like a wretched child who sees a toy he can never hold.”

“You will never hold her either!” Mr Napier snapped. He was going to die anyway, he mights as well say it. “She is no idiot, she does know what you are up to! Whatever you do, whomever you enslave to do your bidding, she will never be yours.”

Kemal, at hearing Mr Napier’s words, looked upon him so horrifically even the demons of the pit would have shuddered. His face was deathlike, and his fangs were exposed through his sneer. Mr Napier’s heart beat desperately, and he knew Kemal could hear his fear.

“You are wrong, Evelyn Napier,” he whispered, his voice cutting through the air. “Neither god nor devil can contest me; Lady Mary _will_ be mine, at whatever cost, however long it takes. It is _you_ , pathetic insect, who will never have her.”

“Then kill me,” Mr Napier said, his anxiety sending his body into palpitations. “Kill me and you can be rid of one more person who would rather die than see her in your arms. Just – just let me die as a human!”

Somehow he imagined his brain crumbling to bits inside his skull as the threads of insanity wrapped his head. He was aware of just how deplorable he looked in Kemal’s eyes, but he could not contain his apprehension – Death was close enough to touch, reaching its silver sickle through the veil of the present.

Kemal stood in front of the trembling man, his eyes revelling at the sight of the degradation of his thrall. “If that is what you want.”

“It is!” cried Evelyn. His heart was throbbing in desperation, and the thought that it would cease to do so in a few moments made it pound even harder.

“Very well,” Kemal said. “That is a wish I do feel obliged to grant.”

He grabbed Mr Napier’s shoulders, forced him hard against the wall, and plunged his sharp teeth into his throat. Mr Napier screamed as Kemal dug his fangs in further, the large vein spluttering forth huge gushes of blood that ran down the human’s chest. The pain of dying was worse than he anticipated, almost more than he could bear. Kemal tore his sharp nails into his victim’s skin whilst he drained him, intent on causing as much agony to the unfortunate man as possible. The savour of his blood was dripping sweetly with fervent terror, and Kemal drank with rapture. He delighted in the screams that echoed until, quite abruptly, they stopped without warning.

Stepping back, long streams of blood trickling from his mouth, Kemal abandoned his hold on the shell of his slave. Mr Napier collapsed onto the floor with a dull crash, lifeless and bloodless. His limbs were tangled together, and his clothes were drenched in red.

Kemal went to make a telephone call.

“The plan is postponed for the time being ... no, postponed ... once I have everything sorted out ... you will still be rewarded, once I have Lady Mary.”

He hung up, and looked down at the cold being on his floor without a hint of regret.

 


	7. Devotion

 

The sky over the country remained grey and dreary through the next morning; rain was a substantial likelihood. "Dreadful," Lord Grantham muttered often, typically looking out the window as he did so. He was becoming increasingly cold at night, even with Cora beside him in the bed. Often he speculated as to why the winters at Downton had to be so austere and dark.

When Sybil and Edith entered the breakfast room they were both similarly gloomy themselves, though there were differing reasons for their sullenness. Edith had managed to sleep through the night without a single disturbance, though she had not woken up feeling well-rested. She was still in the throes of her own angst; little was capable of distracting her from thinking of her nightmare – the image of Mary and Matthew standing over her with vengeful bestiality seemed inescapable.

Sybil was feeling constricted with boredom, and as the dismal weather was preventing any escape, she predicted she'd be in a sour mood for much of the day. She wanted something exciting to come to Downton – no, something to come to  _her_ – but as the most fantastical thing to happen recently was Edith's obsession with the possible undead, her wishful thinking would likely fail to become true.

Mary, however, did not think the weather to be so unpleasant as the others thought. Since waking up as a vampire, she found she preferred clouded skies where the sun could not blaze through, and the darker the day was, the more content she was. She wanted to comment cheerfully on how the sky threatened a thunderstorm, but she chose to say nothing as she put flavourless bacon on her plate. She was determined to conceal anything that might seem aberrant or odd about her – Edith might take it the wrong way and use it as evidence to support her argument.

As she sat down in the seat across from Sybil, she noticed Edith take a chair on the other end of the table, as far away as she could from Mary. She refused to look straight in Mary's direction, let alone warmly acknowledge Mary's presence in the room.

Robert flipped open the morning edition of  _The Times_ , giving a slight gasp upon seeing the front page. "I don't believe it," he exclaimed. "' _The Honourable Evelyn Napier Found Dead in the Thames_.'"

Mary nearly spat out her tea. Sybil and Edith were rendered speechless.

"What happened?" Mary asked.

Robert read aloud the article. "'At fifteen minutes past one this morning, the body of the Hon. Evelyn Napier, son of Viscount Branksome, was found in the river Thames near the Houses of Parliament. The cause of death appears to be a total loss of blood from a wound through the neck—"

This time Mary did choke on her tea. "How horrible," she muttered as she wiped her mouth clean.

"It is quite grim. I liked him; he was a pleasant man," Robert said. "No doubt a horrific murder. I hope they catch the madman so he can receive what he deserves."

Sybil asked, "Mr Napier was here yesterday, wasn't he?"

"What do you mean?" Robert asked, looking at Sybil curiously.

"I thought I saw him go through to the library yesterday afternoon," Sybil replied.

Robert frowned, and behind him Carson did the same. "I don't recall seeing him at all yesterday. Are you certain you're not misremembering, Sybil?" Robert asked.

Sybil glanced at Mary and then Edith, hoping she might formulate an explanation through their facial expressions. "Perhaps I'm getting the days muddled up," she dismissed quickly. "Or do you think one of the servants resembles Mr Napier? Maybe that was why I was mistaken."

Silence settled in the room soon after Sybil's little disconcertion. A startling image materialized in Mary's head, one of Kemal Pamuk throwing Evelyn Napier's limp body into the murky waters of the river. She could not help but feel the small twinge of guilt pricking her heart as she thought of Evelyn. She  _had_ thought him a kind person, although rather boring. But she and Matthew had practically consigned him to Kemal Pamuk's bloody retribution – could there have been another way out for him? She had not lifted a single finger to show Evelyn pity when they had come across him.

But how could she forgive him for furthering Pamuk's scheme that would endanger her freedom, and worse, planning to kill Matthew?

It was Edith who broke the deathly silence. "Papa, I was wondering," she started, with hesitation stalling the formation of her words, "if I could go to London and stay with Aunt Rosamund for a little while."

"Why?" Robert's brow gathered together.

Edith had written in her mind an answer for that question. "I've been considering a change in scenery; I've been rather bored at home lately, and I haven't been down there since the Season. Besides, it may be good for me to go away since I've been … out of sorts, especially because of … the other night."

Mary could tell that Edith was avoiding her sight. Robert cocked his head to the side, giving thought to the idea. "I'm not against you getting away for a little while, but we'll hear what your mother has to say. At any rate, you probably won't be going until this weather clears up."

At the exact moment he said "clears," thunder cracked and sheets of rain were thrown at the windows. Everyone in the room listened to the torrent, reverberating like gunshots through the glass.

"And it will be a miracle if the county doesn't become a sea by luncheon," Robert remarked.

 

* * *

 

Day became night as a heavy storm submerged Downton, and once again the family was trapped inside. Mary certainly agreed with Edith's excuse to go to London: there was practically nothing to do when they weren't entertaining guests. But she knew the real reason behind Edith's desire to leave Downton: ever since Edith's nightmare she had been very anxious, always seeming paranoid, and she still had not spoken to either her or Matthew. Mary understood if Edith wanted to get away from her, but how long did Edith believe she could fight shy of her and Matthew? It would do her no good if she did not learn to trust Mary again – to an extent.

Mary, as soon as she could, snatched her father's morning newspaper and stole upstairs to her bedroom with it. She wanted privacy as she read the fine print concerning Mr. Napier's murder, in case there was some grisly detail that Papa had not dared to read aloud.

The police had not yet determined a cause for the murder, but the mysterious circumstances of his death baffled every professional doctor. There was not a single drop of blood left in his body, with the only wound being the two punctures that had bored deep into his jugular vein. Instinctively, Mary touched her own neck; she realized that if she pressed hard on the skin, she could feel two dents of hard flesh, right where she herself had been bitten.

To her disgust, Kemal Pamuk had given a statement: 'This heinous crime must be punishable by death: it is an immoral and evil act to remove from this earth as goodly a man as Mr Napier.'

There was no place for doubt: Evelyn Napier had met his end at the claws of a psychopath.

Mary got down on her knees and shoved the newspaper under her bed. Suddenly, from behind, there was a scraping noise on the windowpanes, and caught unawares she banged her head on the wood bed-frame. Her mind immediately thought of Kemal Pamuk, come to carry her off somewhere, but the presence was undeniably Matthew's. She could not explain why, but she could simply sense him without even seeing his face.

She straightened up and unlatched the window, opening and shutting it quickly to avoid the pouring rain. The black bat dripped water onto the carpet as it flapped its wings once more, but when it reformed into Matthew he was as dry as Mary.

"I hope I didn't frighten you," he said, producing a small smile.

Mary, to be frank, was more disconcerted than frightened. "How can you use such an abnormal method to get around?" she exclaimed. "What if someone else saw you?"

"If they did, I doubt they would recognize me as a bat. And besides, it's quicker than sending for a car," Matthew said. "Not that I would have called for one; I wanted to talk to you privately. I imagine you've heard what happened to Evelyn Napier."

"Of course. Papa read about it in the paper," Mary said. She sighed ruefully. "And we're the ones that sent him to his death."

Although she excelled at hiding her emotions, Matthew could sense she was somewhat distressed. "It could not be helped," he told her. "He was a thrall, merely a means to an end. I am sorry, but I don't doubt that Pamuk would have slaughtered him in the end."

"I don't doubt it either," Mary replied. "I just wish that we could have done something to help him." She wrung her hands together, looking down at them. "Though perhaps it  _was_  the better fate for him."

"He's no longer dominated by Pamuk," Matthew said. He added bitterly, "But I know that the loss of a human slave would not deter him from anything he has planned in the slightest. He must have others to assist him."

He paused briefly. Just as Mary had seen yesterday, a flicker of sanguine light appeared for the briefest of seconds in Matthew's eyes. "Still, I cannot allow him to cause any more damage, especially to you. I decided as soon as I heard of Mr Napier's death that I would go after him—"

"Go after him?" Mary exclaimed. "You can't possibly mean you're going to—?"

"I have to," Matthew said resolutely. "That's what I came to tell you: I'm going to London tomorrow to hunt him down."

"Matthew, no!" Mary cried, unconsciously grabbing his arm as if he would set off that very minute. Her eyes widened with distress. "What if he hurts you?"

Matthew's astonishment was the same if he had seen a dog sit up and begin speaking English. Never had Lady Mary Crawley ever displayed concern for his well-being. And he certainly didn't expect her to be holding his arm. For some reason, she did not let go, even when she looked down and saw her hand clasped around his wrist.

He looked straight into her eyes as he said, "Lady Mary, you remember that that remorseless monster is responsible for your curse. It was no accident that he turned you, and he has his reasons for doing so. But the sooner I can sniff the beast out, the better. I would sooner die than allow that villain to lay a finger on you. I will not let him control you for an instant."

His words visibly shocked Mary. Matthew felt the hand holding onto him tremble slightly, and he folded his other hand over hers. "Even if he does hurt me, I will do everything in my power to keep him from you. I promise you that he won't ever hurt you again."

Mary was stunned; Matthew was protecting her!

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. "You shouldn't risk your life for me."

"That's just what I have to do," he said softly.

"Then let me come with you. You can't face him on your own," Mary said quickly.

Matthew shook his head. "I can't let you put yourself in any danger. If you get so close to him, he could bewitch you to make you the monster that he is."

"I know how powerful he is. I can feel it in me. I'm telling you, you can't hope to kill him by yourself."

"I have to try. I can't sit here and wait for him to ensnare you."

Mary drew her hand away. "Why put yourself in danger for me?" she whispered softly. "I'm not worth it."

"Yes, you are," insisted Matthew. He looked at Mary in a more caring manner than she felt she deserved.

"But I'm really not," repeated Mary.

"Mary, you can say that all you like, but I won't give up on you, not for a moment," Matthew said tenderly.

How strange it was for the both of them to feel such affection towards one another as they had never felt before. Mary was seized with an alien feeling, one she could not identify, as she had never held in her heart affection for another person. In her own eyes, a ruby burnish eclipsed the normal brown just as she watched Matthew's eyes glaze over with a metallic red glow. He too felt the very same fiery passion that Mary was experiencing – and he was in amazement of the fact that he was still capable of sharing such a yearning with somebody else.

They might have kissed – indeed, they would have – had the door not opened unexpectedly. Anna walked in, carefully handling one of Mary's delicate evening gowns.

"Oh, excuse me milady," she apologized. "I didn't realize you'd be in here."

Mary, with knitted brows, looked about her in confusion, but Matthew had disappeared in the blink of an eye. He was still in the room though, still close by, hiding himself in the same place that Mary had once taken refuge from the light of the sun.

"I just came up here to fetch something," Mary fictitiously explained.

"Very well," Anna said. "How are you feeling?"

To anyone listening in, this might have been a simple exchange between servant and employer, but Mary understood the hidden meaning to Anna's question. She had not tasted human blood since the last night she had spent in her own confinement, when Matthew had fed her from his wrist. That had been several days before, and she was feeling the all-too-familiar pangs of thirst.

"Well, I was wondering," Mary began in a low whisper. "perhaps you could come here later and …" She waved a hand uncertainly to her own neck. "If  _you_  are feeling alright, that is – I don't want you do this if you're still a little weak."

"It's perfectly alright, milady, I'm feeling much better," Anna replied, as dutifully as if Mary had made a request for her evening wear. She placed the evening gown on Mary's bed and left the room.

Mary stepped back from the bed as Matthew emerged from underneath. He was holding the newspaper that Mary had shoved under the bed earlier.

"This says that Mr Napier's funeral is to be next week," he said. "Are you planning on going?"

"I should think not. Edith wants to go to London in a few days; I doubt she'll want me to follow her," Mary answered. "And at any rate, if Kemal really does – want – me, then I don't want to make it easy for him to take me."

"Good," Matthew said. "I'll look out for Edith when she gets there and make sure she's safe. It's unlikely, but Kemal might integrate her into his plot somehow."

"Do you really think he would do that?" Mary asked.

Matthew considered the possibility. "Kemal is unpredictable," he concluded, "and he is more dangerous than anyone else I have ever known. He is both naïve and duplicitous, and he has no regard for the beings around him. He turned you within a few hours of meeting you; I can't imagine how many others he has turned. He seems to me the type of monster that would target someone solely because of their connections to you."

"My God," Mary breathed in alarm. "Edith can't play ignorant to this any longer – I have to warn her about Kemal." She sighed, remembering Edith's show of disdain towards her. "But she still refuses to speak to me. She's still scared out of her mind that I'll kill her, or some other mad notion."

"In time she will understand," Matthew reassured. But even he knew that Edith had to be forewarned about the possible danger she would put herself in when she went to London, and if she remained unawares, she would be completely unprepared for the worst.

"You seem rather weary," he noticed. "You haven't fed for a while, have you?"

Mary shook her head. "No – I'm too scared to bite another human. I'm afraid I'll lose control, as I nearly did with Anna."

"You must not be afraid; you are much stronger than you believe you are," Matthew said. "Now that you've gained your strength back you are less likely to lose control than you were before."

"I know that. But still, I—" Mary faltered.

"I do know what it is you're nervous about," Matthew said. "But it will be alright. You won't hurt anyone. I'll be by your side, if you want me to be."

"Thank you," Mary said tactfully, "but I would rather take from Anna again, just once more. It's still something I'm getting used to, and I – I just feel easier doing  _it_  to someone who knows what I'm doing than a stranger."

"I understand," Matthew said. "Just be careful with Anna this time. And when I return, we'll go out and hunt together. And I swear that I  _will_  return. Nothing will keep me away from you."

Perhaps it was the thought that Matthew was putting himself in mortal danger for her sake, and moreover his promise of coming back to her, that once more triggered the strange emotion that Mary had felt before. This time, however, she felt it surging through her entire body with unfamiliar power, and she suddenly pulled Matthew's head toward hers and kissed him, yielding to a whole new desire. Her first movements were gentle and timid, but they were unaffected; she regretted and recanted the first words she had ever spoken to him, for it was here and now she realized the truth of her feelings towards him, and there was no bitterness in any of them.

Matthew's surprise was instantaneous, but he did not pull away from Mary. He held her in an ardent embrace, succumbing to his amorous bliss and holding fast to her tender kiss. It had been so, so long since he had felt a passion such as in this moment, sharing in the delight of another person. Never, until now, would he have believed that Mary could make him feel whole again. With her in his arms, his corpse-like body burned with fervent ardour, reminding him of the sensation of being alive.

Both of their eyes took on a vibrant red, but it was the colour of deep affection rather than bloodlust.

Mary withdrew from his lips, trying not to look embarrassed. Her eyes were still shining like rubies as she said, contritely, "Forgive me."

"For what?" Matthew replied.

"Just … please be careful, Matthew," Mary said eventually. She did not feel like she could express her concern for him enough.

She opened the window for him and watched him fly off, camouflaged against the dark clouds in the sky. She wondered, how long would it be before she could embrace him once again?

His kind were supposedly devoid of the human emotion of love, yet Matthew could feel his bond with Lady Mary growing into just that.

 

* * *

 

The moon, usually the brightest light in the night sky, was hidden tonight behind the opaque cover of ashen clouds. The rain continued on until late in the evening, but the sudden gusts of wind sounded periodically with the baying of a dozen hunting dogs. It was the strength of the wind's squall that stifled the sound of Anna's feet on the carpet as she carefully made her way to the bedrooms, where Lady Mary was waiting.

Although Anna did not seem flustered, Mary was still apprehensive. Her hunger tonight was not so fervid as it had been before, but she could not say for certain how she would react once she tasted Anna's blood again. The scent hanging in the room was tantalizing her already, reminding her of the luscious taste that she had nearly killed to savour. Even with what Matthew had told her, she was still not ready to believe she could control herself for sure.

"Lady Mary?" Anna was tying her hair back so her neck was clear. Mary realized that she was focused intensely on the side of her neck, where the scar she had made before was still plainly visible.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked, gesturing.

Anna shrugged lightly. "A little. But only when I touch it."

"Do you think anyone has noticed?" Mary asked.

Anna paused, her forehead wrinkling as she tried to think. "I don't believe so," she said. "No one has asked me about it, so I doubt someone has seen it."

Mary cringed as she recalled how limp Anna had become the last time she had bit her, how the graze on her neck bled profusely because she had not been careful to control herself until the last minute. She was hoping that this time she would keep her senses better, but already she could feel the lengthening of her sharp teeth, and Anna's heartbeat was growing louder inside her head.

"I'll try to be more careful this time," she said unassertively.

Anna gave a small smile of reassurance as she lay down on the bed, tilting her head upwards. Mary climbed on top of her, bending down to her neck just as her fangs fully extended. This was the moment when her senses were indubitably powerful: she could smell the potency of fresh blood flowing beneath flesh, and detect the sound of Anna's heart thudding rapidly. It could not have been out of fear, for Anna was breathing evenly and her body was without tension anywhere.

Before she could think twice, Mary's fangs pierced Anna's neck with effortlessness. Anna gasped once the sharp teeth dug into her throat, but she made no more sound as Mary, with forced gentleness, sucked out her blood. There was still pain this time around, but it was far more bearable than before, although the sensation of having her blood drawn out did not fail to make her lightheaded. There was another sensation that she could not ignore – it was subdued, almost imperceptible, and it could only be described loosely as pleasurable.

Mary too was experiencing something fulfilling, but had been expecting it from the outset. She moaned deeply with elated relief, feeling her thirst lessen with each swallow of thick, warm blood, streaming across her tongue and down her throat. She was no longer a stranger to the taste, but she had gone for a long time without drinking it in its pure form, straight from a human's veins, and she had impatiently longed for it every day.

She had not been ravenous in the beginning, but her ecstasy would elevate the more she continued to drink. Although she wished she could go on further, Mary withdrew from Anna's neck, quietly thankful that Anna was still conscious, blinking feebly at her.

"Did I hurt you too much?" Mary asked, her lips still close to the circular wounds still slowly dripping red.

Anna, weakened from blood loss, drowsily replied, "I'm alright, milady."

Mary smiled as she licked around the wounds she had made, cleaning the skin and ensuring the punctures did not continue to bleed. She had drunk her fill, and so did not feel the need to keep drinking, although if she could do so without hurting anyone, she would not recoil from it. She slid away from the other woman, watching intently as Anna's eyes slowly came back to focus on her.

"You've gone a long time without it," Anna observed. She had thought it unusual that Mary, nearly driven to hysteria from her apparent hunger, had not called upon her earlier to satisfy her unusual need.

"I haven't gone completely without," Mary said.

Anna frowned. "How—?"

Mary hesitated for a moment. If she told Anna the truth, then Matthew's secret would be known to one more person, which was more than he would have liked. Yet Anna could keep a secret, no matter how uncanny it was – she was privy to a comparable confidence already, and learning of another would not give her a great shock.

"It was Matthew – he gave me blood," Mary explained.

Anna remained in a muddled state of understanding. "Do you mean ... you  _bit_ Mr Matthew?" she asked, sounding unnerved.

"No, I – well, I did – but he …" Mary trailed off, trying to formulate more discreet wording. "He's a vampire as well. He let me feed off of the blood he drank before coming to me."

Anna's brow shot upwards and her eyes widened, unblinking. She recalled what she had noticed just the morning after Mary first bit her – Matthew shared the same unhealthy pallor as Mary, and her brain had attempted to hypothesize that the reason behind such pallidness was the same as Mary's. It had seemed rather silly at the time to even suppose such a theory, but now she was astounded that her hunch had been correct.

"I know it sounds absurd," Mary agreed. "I can remember how shocked I was when he revealed himself to me. I must have looked like a halfwit."

"Does anybody else know about it?" Anna asked. "His lordship or—"

Mary was in the act of shaking her head when she remembered Matthew's advice to her, that she should ask Anna to assuage Edith's paranoia. If anyone were to convince Edith of the contrary, then only Anna could do so, Mary was certain.

"Edith does know, but only by accident," she explained. "I can't fathom how she found out, but she's been acting rather queer around me for the past few days. She acts as if she can't bear to even look at me."

Anna took in a slight gasp of realization. "That nightmare she had a few nights ago—"

"—was about Matthew and me," Mary finished. "And she's so frightened of me that she won't let me speak a word to her. I want to tell her that neither of us will hurt her, but I doubt she will believe anything of what I say."

Anna, after all of her years of knowing her employer, could easily deduce what Lady Mary wanted her to do. "What would you like me to say to her?"

 

* * *

 

Matthew found himself back in the city of London just before dawn, when the daylight was just beginning to push out the darkness of night. From the moment he stepped off of the train, his senses were as alert as a predator watching for an adversary, overpowering eyes scanning amongst the human populace. If Kemal Pamuk or one of his subordinates were to glimpse him, they would perhaps attempt to finish what Evelyn Napier had been sent to do. To be attacked during the day, his powers slightly diminished under the sunlight, and amongst the teeming masses would not bode well for his own defence.

As the cab carried him to the hotel he observed, with substantial grimness, the current state of London, with all of its filth and beauty combined. The foul stench of the city, so pungent that no person could avoid it, hung over in an unseen mass, although the source now was from automobiles and factories and much less from the manure of animals. The pavement was traveled by men and women of all classes, some dressed in the velvets and laces that the Crawleys were like to favour, others hardly well-equipped for the oncoming cold.

Matthew had last resided within London a few years before the turn of the century, but it was not the first time he had lived and hunted here. For several periods in his life he had menaced the people here, sucked blood from all walks of life, watched the façade of the city evolve as he remained hidden. It was the perfect territory for a creature such as himself, as a place of shadows and an ever-growing populace of humans, but he nevertheless held little fondness for it. After so many years, unrecognisable from four centuries prior, the city of London haunted him. Here, long ago as a human, he had witnessed bloodshed and inflicted it too. It was here that he had been attacked, drained, and transformed.

He waited in his large hotel room for night to return to the city. Despite the constant alteration of the streets and buildings, Matthew would navigate better under the cover of darkness. He would find Kemal Pamuk, no matter how well the fiend hid, and he would employ every power he had to destroy him. Reminding himself that it was for Mary's sake was enough to prove to him that carrying out such a lethal task would not be futile.

In a newspaper, Matthew read an account of the investigation of Evelyn Napier's grim end, which was considerably more graphic than the earlier announcement. The beginning paragraph was uninteresting, merely concerned about the talks Mr Napier had traveled to London with Kemal Pamuk for, but it quickly changed over to the police findings at the location where they found Napier's body floating downstream the Thames. It was suspected that he had been murdered at the Hotel Erebos, where he had been staying at the time and which was not very far from where his corpse had been fished from the river; however, inside the hotel room, there was no sign found of a struggle, nor even a trace of evidence that he had in fact been killed. This puzzled the authorities, for the cause of death had been established not as drowning, but as loss of blood from the two holes in the side of his neck possibly created by a thin spike. Of course, Kemal Pamuk had been questioned, but the police seemed to declare him as innocent as a child.

_How many centuries has Pamuk lived, hiding his crimes from the humans he seeks to condemn?_ Matthew thought.  _How many lives have fallen prey to his wrath, to his desires?_

_Why,_ he asked himself,  _did that madman choose Mary to be his?_

As soon as the sun had set, Matthew made his way to the hotel where Kemal Pamuk – and until of late, Evelyn Napier – had been staying. The Hotel Erebos, popular amongst attachés and advocates, had its address on a thronging street; Kemal would not be wanting for blood despite having disposed of his thrall. Matthew watched, concealed by the shadows along the adjacent street, as the car drove up to the door and the villain stepped out, accompanied by several other important-looking men.

The moonlight shone down on Pamuk's figure, and beneath the soft ivory light his malignant features were accentuated enough for Matthew to see clearly. His drawn bronze skin was irradiated by the dim yet fiery street lamps; when he parted his lips to smile at a man who had spoken to him, the flaming glow glinted off of his marble-white teeth. The monster within could be perceived, but there was also the attractive power that could seduce man or woman. Had he been human, Mary would nevertheless fall for him just as quickly. The man was charming, charismatic, alluring even – but he was a monster above all things.

Even from across the street, Matthew saw the pointed nails on Pamuk's long fingers as they grasped a smaller man's hand. The vampire's claw grasped the human's hand in a genial yet dominating gesture, and his eyes bore down into him much as a master looked upon a slave. In that instance, Matthew could guess what Pamuk had planned with his meek human acquaintance. To think such a thing sent a shudder of disgust and rage through him. Had he less control over his vengeful impulses he would have sped across the street and ripped Kemal's head from his shoulders, right in front of everyone. He had no weapon on him now, save his inhuman strength, but he envisioned the satisfaction of tearing the demon's throat out and forcing a stake through his cold unbeating heart. Matthew did not consider himself to be sadistic, but upon this monster he would inflict the very agony of hell until he fragmented into nothing. Pamuk could do nothing to receive forgiveness for defiling Mary, nor for any of the other atrocities he carried out.

Pamuk, joined by the other men, strode through the hotel doors. From a safe distance, Matthew followed them into the lobby, keeping the other vampire within his line of sight. There were plenty of other people to conceal him, should Pamuk turn around unexpectedly, and more scents than Matthew could identify, in case his own was discerned.

As the men traveled towards the hotel bar, a stout man was presently giving Pamuk his sympathies. "I simply cannot believe it –  _him_ , to be killed like that, of all people."

"I, too, remain in shock," Pamuk said, playing at distress. "He was a true friend of mine, and a dedicated helper. But recently, with his involvement, he would have acquired some … nemeses, and it was only his misfortune that death came early to him."

He enjoyed putting on a show, playing like an actor on stage; his psychopathic attributes were becoming clearer than water. Just how had he become so damnable, so diabolical in every action? Was it merely an inherent thirst for savagery? Was it his age, a conscience extinguished by the centuries?

Pamuk and his partners sat down at a table in the bar, and Matthew positioned himself so that Pamuk's back was towards him. The room was heavy with the scents of humans, the smoke they were blowing across the tables, and of the alcohol sloshing in glasses. Matthew was unsurprised when Pamuk declined the whiskey he was offered; the whiskey being served here was of lesser quality than even the kind Lord Grantham had, and he would not drink any even for appearance's sake. Undoubtedly, he would likely procure a better substitute for alcohol later that night.

The three men commenced their idle political chatter, yet Pamuk was oddly silent. His body stiffened as his fingers drummed against the wood table, and though his eyes could not be seen, they were certainly flitting from one companion to another, casting a calculating gaze. Matthew did not move an inch, and his eyes narrowed as they locked onto Pamuk. Although the latter man might not sense who exactly was watching him so intently, a predator would know when he was regarded as prey. At that moment, Matthew knew he would not be able to strike tonight.

Pamuk shifted around in his seat, seemingly preparing to stand up. He muttered something that could scarcely be heard in the babel of the bar – "Gentlemen, I am tired. Please, excuse me." He stood up tall, gave a slight bow to the other men, and stepped away from the table. Matthew turned his head away, but only enough to track Pamuk's movement from the corner of his eye. Pamuk did not give any indication that he knew of Matthew presence; he crossed to the doors by the far side of the room, walking out as nonchalantly as any man.

Matthew did not consider following Pamuk to his room; instead, he returned outside. The night sky was starless, but the moon shone brightly through the mist. He pondered how he might proceed with destroying the monster. He could not attack for at least a few days – Pamuk, having sensed a pair of eyes upon him, would be as alert as a hawk. That would not be too much of a hindrance to Matthew, though the sooner he killed Pamuk, the sooner Mary would be free from his lust. He was almost relieved that he missed his chance tonight, for he did not have on him the weapon that he desired to use against his foe.

The dagger had been crafted for him when he was still human. Half as long as his forearm, the blade forged with steel that shone like silver, the guard curving like the branches of a tree, it was a weapon made merely for show. The edge of the blade, however, was so keen it could saw through bone in a matter of seconds, and it had remained uncannily sharp for so long since its last use. Despite being intended only for ceremonial purposes, that dagger had killed one person – and now Matthew felt it was time to make use of it once more.

There was something about that dagger, and not only the way its condition remained untarnished by age, that prompted Matthew to believe that there was something magical infused within the cold, silvery blade. Each time he looked at it, his face reflected in the steel, he grew pained at the memories connected with it, yet he would never allow it to leave his possession. Some reason that he never could explain forewarned him that the time would come when he would have to set somebody free with the dagger a second time. That time, he felt, was close at hand.

Matthew wandered back towards his hotel in the lamplit London environs. As he turned down a quieter street, devoid of late-night automobiles churning down the cobblestones, a young man, perhaps a weary clerk walking home, passed him by, giving him a hasty glance. The young man continued down the road, receding into shadow, but Matthew stopped and turned his head around to watch the man with dark, piercing red eyes.

He had forgotten just how easy it was to hunt in such a large city. He made hardly a sound on the pavement as he went after the young man, his canines already growing longer.

 

* * *

 

Anna's fingers deftly pinned Lady Edith's light brown curls into a style fitting for dinner. The other girls had already gone downstairs, and the reason Edith was delayed in going down was that she, as usual, had been reluctant to be in the same room as Mary. Even with Mary gone, Anna noticed Edith's tension lingering in the way she clutched her hands, and the slight shifts in her reserved posture.

"Are you feeling alright milady?" Anna asked. "Is that dress uncomfortable?" She doubted that Edith would readily admit to what was causing her disquiet.

"Oh, no, I'm fine," Edith said with forced poise. In truth, she was far from fine. Out of nowhere images from her nightmare still would invade her head, making her unable to forget the diabolical laughter, the glittering red eyes that she could not look away from. She had been briefly gladdened to hear the knew that Matthew had gone down to London, but her repose was crushed by the reminder that she planned to take the train to London tomorrow, and she would be back in the same city as he.

"Have you not been sleeping well lately?" Anna asked.

Edith never slept well at night anymore – not even last night proved a respite from her fitful rest. To lie unprotected in the darkness formulated fears of feeling those red eyes staring at her once more. Nevertheless, she nodded, hoping to deflect any more worry from Anna.

Anna set the brush down, but before Edith could rise and leave, Anna asked, "Can you answer something for me, milady?"

"What is it?" Edith said sighed, straightening the gloves on her arms.

Anna paused so she would avoid stuttering. She wasn't sure if Edith would willingly listen to her. "I don't want you to think I'm intruding, but I'd like to help you. I know something has been troubling you—"

"What made you think that?" Edith asked, turning to look at Anna so she wasn't simply talking to her reflection. "Nothing is troubling me."

"Milady, please." Anna stood resolute. "I understand exactly why you are scared – you found out that Lady Mary and Mr Matthew are vampires."

Edith forgot to breathe. She stared at Anna, unaware just how horror-stricken her face was at the moment. She heard the tremor in her own voice. "How – h-how could you know that?"

Anna reached for her collar, but even before she pulled it away from her neck Edith caught sight of the raised white scar surrounded by blue-tinged flesh. "Your sister," Anna explained shortly. "I've volunteered to let her do – it – twice now."

Edith's eyes went from the thin scar to meet Anna's eyes with confoundment. "You  _let_  her? She didn't attack you?"

"Not without me asking to," Anna said. "And I know it seems odd to think that she is concerned about you, but she truly is. She doesn't want you to be frightened of either her or Mr Matthew, because neither of them will hurt you."

Edith wasn't sure whether to be relieved yet or not; Anna had little reason to lie to her, but there was still suspicion in her gut. It was perhaps the assertion that her sister was actually concerned for her.

"I can't believe any of it – why should I trust their word?" she scoffed. "If Matthew bit Mary, why should I trust him not to do the same to Sybil or me?"

Anna looked at Edith oddly. "You thought that it was Mr Matthew who turned Lady Mary?"

"Am I wrong?"

"It was Mr Pamuk who changed Lady Mary, not Mr Matthew," Anna made clear. "It's as I said: neither of them would dare to harm you or the rest of the family."

Edith found herself struggling to form intelligent words, but she did not fail to realize that Anna's words were spoken with sincerity. This was not some trick conceived by anyone, to lure her into a false sense of safety. But she was chest-deep in her own fear – how could she find a way to look at Mary and not feel her blood run cold? There was always the remembrance that Mary boasted power that no thing on Earth should possess – and just how much more formidable was Matthew, having lived far longer than any would have thought?

"I don't want to be afraid of them," Edith confessed. "But how can I not be? They're monsters."

"They're also your family," Anna said. "And they are more human than you've made them out to be."

The nightmare suddenly seemed less a reality and more like what it genuinely was: nothing more than a dream, a manifestation formulated inside her silly mind. The feeling was similar to having several bricks be lifted from her chest. How inane she had been to assume the worst, to let her imagination to run riot like a child's!

"Oh God," she muttered. "I've made a terrible mistake."

She covered her face with her gloved hands so Anna would not see the shame in her eyes.


	8. Ensnaring the Bait

Mary was never one to eagerly make conversation with men that were plainly trying to impress her, and tonight was no different. Several so-called important men were dining with the family for God-knows-what reason, and more than half of those men thought themselves suited conversants to the aloof Lady Mary. She hardly glanced in their directions if they opened their mouths, and answered questions with stunted syllables. Her relief was obvious whenever a man gave up his endeavour to attract her attention or whenever she was given cause to divert it elsewhere.

As the women settled into the drawing room for coffee, Mary found her thoughts locked onto Matthew. The rest of the family were informed that he had left for unforeseen business in London, but only Mary knew of the danger he was putting himself in, and for her own sake. Although astonished and grateful for this courageous act, she now felt guilty for being the reason he was taking such risks. If he were to die, then there would be nothing left of him than a sweeping of dust, and only she would be privy to the truth, even as her family waited for answers that could not be divulged without Mary speaking aloud her secret. Even if Matthew was not to be killed, if he suffered an awful injury, she would never be able to live with her pangs of conscience.

She lifted her head, and to her concealed shock, she noticed how close to her Edith was sitting. Mary had grown so used to Edith standing on the opposite side of the room that it was next to miraculous to see the whites of her eyes again. The thoughts inside her head were, for the first time in a while, collected and sane, though there were lasting traces of tension. Mary’s heart brightened – Anna had finally talked sense into Edith, at least enough to convince her that she would not be bled dry in the dead of the night. Mary highly doubted that this would be enough to create a better relationship between Edith and her, but for now there would be no more disturbed glances or flightiness directed towards her.

The men passed into the drawing room, and Mary turned aside to avoid eye contact with any of them. She was frustrated that she was stuck here, egged on by her mother to be cordial, when she wanted nothing more than to go to Matthew’s aid. If any self-important man tried to talk about the dullest topics to her again, she would be tempted to bite them out of sheer annoyance.

“Are you not enjoying yourself tonight, Lady Mary?” Sir Richard Carlisle asked.

He was a newspaper tycoon, a _nouveau riche_ who worked in London and whose history was shrouded in rumour. No one could say for certain how he had come to be such a man of influence, and no one dared to ask him; he simply existed as if he had been the same man for as long as anyone could have remembered. He had not spoken to Mary prior, and for that he was slightly more tolerable, but she kept up her proud appearance nonetheless.

“I’ve not felt myself lately, I’m afraid,” Mary answered, not turning to face him.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Sir Richard’s voice was slow and calculating, as if he were about to threaten an insubordinate. Mary let her eyes raise up to look briefly at him. He was not a young man, but he did not have an unsightly look, though he was grey-faced and his eyes were sharper than a cutter.

“We’ve all had a bit of a rough time recently,” Edith put in. Mary glanced sideways as Edith, wondering if she was trying to fish with no bait again.

“I see,” Sir Richard said. “Perhaps London will lift your spirits again. Lord Grantham mentioned one of you going down soon.”

“I’m taking the train tomorrow morning,” Edith said. “I haven’t been there for a while, and I’m bored out of my skull at home.”

Mary though Sir Richard looked somewhat disappointed, but he smiled toothlessly at Edith. “Perhaps we’ll see each other at the station. I myself need to hurry back to my office in London as quickly as I can.” He turned back to Mary, and as he spoke the soft electric light glanced off straight white teeth. “Are you not going, Lady Mary?”

“I’m afraid not,” Mary said, fingering her long necklace. “I’m still in recovery from – from my ordeal.”

“What a shame,” Sir Richard said quietly. “I should very much like to get to know you better.”

Mary wasn’t sure how to respond to this. Something about Sir Richard made her ill at ease, the dangerous aura around him more daunting than an impenetrable stone wall. He was regarding her with interest, as if she were a magnificent piece of art he wanted to procure.

“Believe me, Sir Richard, there are things about me you’d rather not learn,” she rebuffed. “Very … unpleasant things.”

Sir Richard’s stare was intent, but he smiled knowingly. “There are some unpleasant things about me as well. Perhaps they are not so very different to your own secrets.” His deep blue eyes gleamed teasingly. “Excuse me, ladies. If your father misses me, tell him I’ve gone to use your telephone.”

He removed himself from the girls’ vicinity, leaving Mary to hope that she could sneak away soon.

Later, as they ascended the stairs to their bedrooms, Mary said in hushed tones to Edith, “Anna spoke to you, didn’t she?”

“She did,” Edith said.

“And you understand that what she said was completely true? That I would never harm you no matter what?”

Edith stopped and turned to face Mary. “I know that now. But before I didn’t.” She paused. “I know I was foolish to be afraid of you, to think that you were some monster because …” She halted , looking sheepish.

“Because I’m a vampire,” Mary finished.

Edith nodded.

“Oh Edith,” Mary sighed. “You read too many novels. I’m not some mindless demon now, and as it happens, neither is Matthew. He helped me realize that I won’t become that. So don’t think for one more moment that I’ll hurt you – well, not in _that_ sense,” she added curtly.

Edith smiled for a second. “Thank you Mary.”

If either of their characters were any different, they might have come close to embracing. Instead, they continued upstairs to their respective bedrooms.

“I suppose I _have_ been reading too many books,” Edith professed.

“Clearly,” Mary scoffed.

“And I guess I should tell Sybil you’re not going to come and suck my blood in the middle of the night.”

“That would be good for her to know.” Mary wrung her hands. “But don’t you dare breathe a word to Mama or Papa.”

“Why not?” Edith looked confused.

“Because I don’t know how willingly they would accept the truth,” Mary explained.

“Mary, I’m sure if you told them what you just told me—”

“No,” Mary affirmed. “Neither of them can know what Matthew and I are. You and Sybil finding out is bad enough, but – I don’t even want to imagine their faces if they found out. They _cannot_ know anything.”

Edith was unconvinced, but she seemed compliant with Mary’s wish. “If you say so.”

“Good.” That was settled, much to Mary’s relief. “You are still going to London anyway, aren’t you?”

“I am.” Edith grinned. “It’s all sorted out: I’m staying with Aunt Rosamund, and I will go about and do things that interesting people do.”

“I’m glad for you,” Mary said, “but I feel I should warn you about the real reason that Matthew is there.”

“You’re scaring me again.” Edith frowned slightly.

“Then I’ll do what I can to reassure you. You aren’t in any express danger, but just to be sure, Matthew is going to be keeping an eye on you, only to make certain that you are safe.”

“Safe? Safe from what?”

Mary hesitated, as if she were about to divulge a damning confession.

“You have to tell me, Mary,” Edith urged. “I can’t be kept in the dark if I’m apparently in danger.”

“Alright,” Mary sighed. “Matthew’s gone to kill Kemal Pamuk. He turned me, and he wants me. There’s no telling what he’ll do to achieve that.”

Worry returned to Edith as quickly as it had passed.

 

* * *

 

 

Despite learning of the possible danger that she was in, Edith slept soundly for the first time in a long while. In the morning she primed herself for her journey and went downstairs wearing her traveling coat and hat, Mary and Sybil walking behind her.

“I don’t understand why you’re going anyway,” Sybil remarked. “You only wanted to go because of you-know-what.”

“You can’t act as if this is the most interesting place in all of England,” Edith returned coarsely. “There’s so many new and modern things to see now, and I want to explore them with Mama and Papa breathing down my neck.”

“Don’t come back as some revolutionary,” Mary said, “else they might exile you down there.”

“I’m not the one who should be accused of turning into a rebel.” Edith glanced sideways at Sybil.

“But still, just be careful,” Mary said quietly. “I don’t know if Pamuk _will_ involve you in anything he has planned, but all the same be on your guard. And remember, Matthew will be looking out for you”

“My sister turns into a vampire and suddenly _I'm_ the one at risk of being followed,” Edith grumbled.

“But remember to enjoy yourself,” Sybil added. “And if you can, tell me about the new fashions they’re wearing there. Is it true that some society women are wearing trousers to dinner now?”

Both Edith and Mary stared at their little sister as if she had sprouted a beard before their eyes. “If they do, they’re in an asylum the next morning,” Mary muttered tartly.

The train arrived promptly at the station, and Edith was glad not to see Sir Richard Carlisle. She did not particularly like the man; something about the way he had been eyeing Mary last night did not make her comfortable. Mary often joked that Edith would fling herself at any unmarried man that crossed her path, but Edith would be more attracted to a hound than to Sir Richard.

She arrived in London in the middle of the afternoon, the time when London seemed more frantic than a beehive. Edith heeded Mary’s warning, but she was sure she would be quick to forget the malice occupying the city, contemplating her kidnapping. Still, why would Kemal go after her? – he had gotten to Mary already, and she was a better prize than Edith could hope to be in a hundred years. She wouldn’t blame him for turning his nose up at her.

Aunt Rosamund’s new chauffeur, a young Irishman whom Edith had never met before, collected her at the station. As the car drove along the busy streets to Belgrave square the clear blue sky began to darken with silver clouds that were growing heavier. Edith sighed with irritation; she had been hoping for a trip to London when the pavement was not slick with rain. Since the weather had been dismal for the past few weeks at Downton, she imagined it was following her just to spite her.

The car drove to the front of her aunt’s home just as a brisk wind blew past the row of stately houses, rustling the window panes and whipping Edith’s hair about. She pressed a hand to her hat as she climbed out of the car, waiting for the chauffeur to haul her bags up the front steps. He opened the door himself – a peculiar move considering Aunt Rosamund had a perfectly healthy butler – and pushed her cases inside. He stood to the side as Edith walked up the stairs and stepped over the threshold.

As soon as she stood inside, she realized something was very wrong, and she was caught in the middle of it.

Not a soul could be seen inside. It was colder inside the house than outside on the windy street, and it was darker than it should have been in the daytime. There was a very unearthly air about the entire house, hanging as an indiscernible cloud, running down her spine as a callous chill.

“Aunt Rosamund?” she called out. Not another sound came from anywhere – the house seemed completely deserted, standing as if abandoned for years.

Her breath hitched in her throat, and she turned, bewildered, to the young chauffeur standing behind her. He closed the front door with a _clang_ , and the foyer was deprived of all natural light.

“Where’s Lady Rosamund?” Edith demanded, hoping that the tremor in her voice would go undetected. The chauffeur’s eyes glanced about the darkened house, unfazed by the lack of light or life in the house. Edith followed where he directed his vision, but she could not see into the furthest reaches of the house, where the darkest shadows settled.

From behind, supernaturally strong arms encircled her just below her neck. Edith gasped suddenly, but a cold palm pressed against her lips, effectively keeping her silent. From the corner of her eye, the chauffeur opened his mouth and flashed unnaturally sharp teeth.

“I’m sorry, Lady Edith,” he said into her ear. “Stay still.”

He pressed his fangs into the nape of her neck, taking care not to break the skin. Before Edith could register her horrific present, her limbs slackened and her vision went completely dark; her very strength seemed to evaporate from her body. She swayed on her feet, then dropped to the floor, unconsciousness sinking in.

Effortlessly, the young Irishman slung her over his shoulders and carried her upstairs. No one from Lady Rosamund’s household would catch him, as each one of them lay inanimate in the kitchen pantry. They would not wake up until they were commanded to do so.

Yet the house did have its sentient inhabitants. Sir Richard Carlisle was waiting patiently for him at the stop of the stairs. He regarded the sleeping woman with red eyes, ensuring that she was in fact inert.

“Finally, Branson.” With a grim sort of smile, he gestured to an empty bedroom. “Put her in here.”

Tom Branson lay the limp woman down gently on the bed. “What happens next?” he asked.

“None of your concern,” Sir Richard answered, glowering at Tom. “You have business to attend to this evening. I suggest you prepare.”

Tom nodded dully and went out, closing the door behind him.

Sir Richard looked down at Lady Edith, lying on her back, as lax as a rag doll. He smirked; how plain she was compared to her older sister, the beautiful new vampire, soon to return to her sire. His eyes narrowed at the thought of the mesmeric Lady Mary being forced back into the hands of the most selfish, psychotic being he had even had the displeasure of knowing. Since first seeing her, Sir Richard had quietly fostered an attraction for her; she was an exquisite prey, a bewitching predator whose loveliness would last forever. She was not the first arresting woman to capture Sir Richard’s attention, but there was something about the strength she possessed that beguiled him so.

Or, he considered, perhaps it was the desire to teach the unhinged Turk a lesson about acting without ration. He had never like the creature since their first encounter in Constantinople, during the final days of the Roman Empire. Even _then_ he had deserved to be sectioned.

For several hours he waited, his patience wearing down. He had carelessly let himself go without blood for several days, and now he was paying the price for his procrastination. But he could not leave the house, for it was his spell that kept its legal inhabitants sedated. He gave thought to biting into the sweet neck of the young woman right in front of him, then decided it would not be wise. If Kemal did what he planned to do tonight, then he would want her untainted.

And whatever the bastard had planned for Lady Edith Crawley, it would not be agreeable for her.

At the very moment he believed his even temper would expire, Sir Richard heard the anticipated scratching at the window. He stepped closer to the window, pulling back the thick curtains. He saw that a thick fog had gathered outside, making the recently-settled darkness all the more impervious. In the midst of the fog, a large black bat was flapping its wings against the glass panes. Containing his own disdain, Sir Richard unlatched the window lock, watching nonchalantly as the creature reassumed its typical form and strode past him.

“I see Branson has at last proved himself to be a sufficient acolyte.” Kemal’s protuberant teeth were exposed in what was supposed to be a humorous smile. “If he were still human, I would play a little game with him – I’d see if he could last longer in my service than poor Mr Napier did. Where is he?”

Sir Richard turned his head so he would not have to speak directly to Kemal’s face. “He has already begun his journey north.”

Kemal stepped around the bed, circling the sleeping lady like a half-starved vulture. Sir Richard observed him closely, sensing the insatiable greed within the being that would make even the Devil recoil. “But do you think it wise to bring _both_ of them here?”

“Yes,” Kemal answered without hesitation.

“Is it really?”

“ _Yes_.” Kemal’s growl was more dangerous than that of a disgruntled lion. “One sister is expected to be in London. When when the other goes missing, Lady Mary will make her way here first, to see that this one—,” he waved a lazy hand, “is ‘safe.’”

“Is it too difficult to simply take her from her home?” Sir Richard wondered if the madman really did want to sort things out the hard way.

“I have a hunch that she would not, unconditionally, join me. She needs an incentive to leave her family, to finally see that she ought to follow me. And since that other man, the one that Mr Napier failed to kill, has grown closer to her, she’ll need it to leave him as well.”

“And that incentive is—?”

Kemal’s smile was turned foul by his sharp teeth. “That I will let both of her sisters leave this house as living humans, on the grounds that she becomes my companion for her eternal life.”

“You have quite a way with women, Mr Pamuk.”

Kemal sniffed. “I could say the same to you.”

Sir Richard’s face was like stone. “But you won’t actually surrender the younger Crawley ladies once Lady Mary agrees to become your companion, will you?”

“Of course not. Once my bride is in my arms again, I don’t intend to overlook the rewards I’ve promised you and Branson.”

“With the appetite Branson has, he’ll likely drain both girls within a half-hour,” Sir Richard said. “My _own_ compensation for your little scheme—”

“Yes yes, it will be seen to!” Kemal finished impatiently. He was leering at Lady Edith, the scent of her aristocratic blood making his mouth water. He remembered the fiery, ambrosian savour of Mary’s blood with longing, and he could not wait to see that pale, goddess-like face, to touch her soft skin again. So soon, he had to remind himself, so very close.

Sir Richard had had enough of Kemal’s company for now. He opened the door to leave, but something caught in the back of his mind, something that hopefully Kemal had already considered.

“That other vampire that you sent Mr Napier to do away with – you don’t suppose he’ll follow Lady Mary down here, to rescue her and her sisters?”

Kemal’s eyes narrowed, but his words were confident. “If he _does_ come with Mary, then I doubt he’ll be much of a challenge to dispatch with the two of us. Even if he is a few centuries old, how can his powers compare to those of two millennia-old vampires?”

 

* * *

 

 

Tom stood in front of the large house long after the sun had gone down. He was exhausted from his journey, and thirsty as well, but there was no room to make any mistakes now. Pamuk would be expecting him back by sunrise, and Tom did not want to find out what would happen to him if he did not meet his expectations. He knew what happened to humans who disappointed Pamuk – what befell Mr Napier was not shocking – but surely he would provide no mercy even to his own kind.

Deftly scaling the walls with considerable speed, his slender fingers grasping at the stone, he made his way to where Pamuk had directed him. It was easy to figure out when he was in front of the right window: inside the room, the curtains were slightly parted to reveal the youngest Crawley daughter. She was in a deep, undisturbed sleep, her tousled hair spread across the oversized pillow.

Willing himself to focus, Tom stared unblinkingly at the lovely figure, calling out to her sleeping mind. His fingernails tapped lightly on the glass, producing a sound soft enough so that only she could hear. In his own mind he felt her consciousness heed his command, but when she lifted her head, her eyes were glazed over, unseeing. She arose from the bed and stood unsteadily, as flimsy as a cloth doll in her entranced state.

“Lady Sybil,” Tom said in a low voice. He beckoned her closer to him, curling his fingers towards him.

Obediently, Sybil moved forward at a languid pace, the way one would imagine the dead to walk. Slowly, she brought her hand up to the latch and lifted it. One-half of the window swung open on its hinges, and a gust of wind rippled her hair and nightgown. She shivered, swaying on her uncovered feet.

Tom knew what he had to do next, but as he climbed over the window sill, he paused to look closer at Lady Sybil. He thought, even though her eyes were glassy and her face emotionless, that she was one of the most beautiful girls he had seen this century. She was so young, and so full of … life. For the brief moment that he had penetrated her thoughts, he had detected her faintest wishes, her unspoken desires – she was more than just a lady, preening in satins and jewels. She was different.

Yet she was a human, like so many others Tom had encountered in the night. He felt the urge to bite into her neck that very minute, to drink in her life and feel her fieriness give him strength. Her scent promised a sweeter meal than what he been taking in the city, tainted from drink and narcotics and sin. But being so young, Sybil’s blood was clean, and purer blood tasted like the greatest of pleasures.

He shuddered and turned away, repulsed by his own greediness. If he bit her now, he risked losing his control – and he had very little of it as it was. He had no choice but to abstain if he was to complete his errand. It had been made clear to him by Pamuk that he was supposed to bring her back unharmed in the slightest.

He outstretched his hand in front of her eyes. “Take me to Lady Mary’s bedroom,” he commanded.

Lady Sybil made no sound as she walked, her arms hanging lifeless by her sides. She seemed to glide silently across the floor, pausing only to turn the door handle before resuming her ghostly stride outside in the hall. Tom followed at a distance, glancing shortly at the grandeur around him (he cared little for country homes and the people they housed). So quiet the two of them were as they snuck past closed doors that Lord and Lady Grantham hardly stirred in their sleep.

Sybil stopped outside of Lady Mary’s room, standing away from the door to allow Tom passage. Her face remained impassive as Tom pulled from his pocket a small envelope with Lady Mary’s name scrawled across it.

She would most likely be awake so late at night – Tom doubted that she slept much at all, being without a coffin. He would need to slip the letter under the door, then leave as quickly as possible. The advantage he had was that Lady Mary had little skill with her vampiric power, no more capable than a child. Were she to attempt to impede him, she would not be the one to emerge victorious.

He pushed the envelope partially under the door, then hastily made his way back down the hall, Lady Sybil trailing close behind him. He had heard Lady Mary stir – a faint “Who’s there?” coming from inside the bedroom. She did not open the door, but Tom knew that she would have noticed the note on the floor.

It was proving easier than he had expected to hold Lady Sybil in her trance; she did not put up any shred of resistance to his will. She followed him like a loyal pet back to her room, then to the open window, grasping his cold hand as she climbed to the ledge.

“Hold onto me, tightly,” Tom said, though he knew she could not respond. Subconsciously, she moved behind him, and he took her arms and folded them around his shoulders. She felt peculiarly light on his back; he would have to be careful with her. He could feel her warm breath on his neck, her cheek touching his shoulder. Tom held himself immobile as another rush of her fragranced scent evoked his thirst.

Swiftly but carefully, he crawled down the exterior of the house, most of the labour being to keep Lady Sybil from falling. The height was not enough to be fear-inducing, or so he thought, but he was nevertheless glad for Lady Sybil’s sake that she did not know what was happening. Her body was awake, however, and her hands trembled as a rush of wind whipped past.

Tom was on the ground within seconds, landing as lightly as a cat. He placed Sybil back on her feet again before looking behind him, hoping that Lady Mary had not yet caught sight of him. He guessed that now she was reading the short note and working out what was happening.

“Come with me, quickly,” Tom told Lady Sybil, taking her hand.

Her eyes remained vacant as Tom guided her through a grove of trees, towards the village. When he noticed her bare toes going blue from numbness, he lifted her in his arms, partially releasing his hold over her to allow her complete sleep again.

The night train left for London with two uninvited passengers.

 

* * *

 

 

Mary sat at her vanity for the rest of the night, the envelope addressed to her flat in front of her. She could not bring herself to touch it once she realized who it was from – she did not recognize the handwriting, but Kemal Pamuk’s stench clung to the paper. The subtle traces of his blood froze Mary’s insides, reminding her of the fear she felt the night he came to her, and of her worry for Matthew. Did this letter have something to do with him? Was it a final taunt, a vulgar invitation from Kemal, an expression of his hopes to have her by his side as his unwilling consort?

She did not move until Anna entered early in the morning, mercifully bringing her out of her fearful musings.

“What do you have there?” Anna asked, looking at the small square envelope with curiosity.

Mary could not desist any longer. She grasped the crinkling yellow paper and slashed a fingernail across the fold, roughly pulling out the creased note within.

_Come find them._

 


	9. Dark Roots

When Matthew stopped outside Lady Rosamund’s home, he could sense something was very wrong.

The past few days had not led him any closer to Pamuk. During the day he was occupied with diplomatic matters, always closely surrounded by men. At night he neatly evaded Matthew, never present at his hotel room or the shadow-lined alleys nearby. The monster seemed as slippery as a serpent, persistently slinking out of reach. Matthew feared that he would lose the cat-and-mouse game he had initiated, that Pamuk was aware of his presence and was callously toying with him. It angered him to consider that all he was doing for Mary might be in vain. He thought about returning to Downton, but he had made a promise to Mary that he’d ensure nothing untoward happened to Edith, and so he resolved to continue his hunt as long as she remained in London.

He knew that Edith had arrived the day before, but he wanted to avoid being vigilant for her until she was settled in the city. Yet standing near the grand house in Belgrave square, he knew that something had already gone amiss. No light came through the windows, and no movement behind the curtains denoted that the inhabitants were either absent or inanimate. The air seemed colder closer to the house, an iciness so bleak that it even made Matthew shudder. He hastened up the steps and put his hand to the door – almost immediately, he drew back in adverse confusion. He could feel it in his bones: something evil was inside.

Matthew held the handle of the door and turned it. The door was unlocked, strangely, and swung inward without effort. Matthew tensed: someone was either careless in keeping the entrance open or expecting an infiltration. Making certain that his dagger was close at hand, he stepped inside.

The foyer looked as if it had been untouched for some time. Dust had settled on the chairs and tables, sorely in need of a good brushing. None of the lamps were lit, and though sun cast but a weak light outside, the rooms seemed as dark as if it were evening instead. Matthew closed the door behind him and listened for a single sound. The house was as silent as the grave.

He whispered, “Lady Edith?” The words rang through the empty marble-lined hall. What was doubtlessly her scent could be perceived, but it was a merely a hint. Was she in here, all alone? He whispered her name again, just a little bit louder this time, and heard no answer. Matthew’s heart sank; he had been too late.

Footsteps echoed nearby. Whoever it might be, the likelihood that it was Lady Rosamund’s servants was small.

“Who’s there?” Matthew said in a low voice.

He stiffened, watching a man in a dark green uniform come forth from the shadows, halting close to the stairs.

“Who are you?” he demanded calmly, feeling the blade of the knife beneath his coat.

The stranger gave a feral hiss, showing his pointed teeth. He seemed taken aback when when he got no reaction from Matthew.

“Where is Lady Edith?” Matthew took a few steps forward.

Tom Branson looked at him, discomposed, but he stood his ground. He pointed an elongated nail at Matthew. “I don’t care if you know about Lady Edith ... but you have no business here.”

Before he could say another word, Matthew streaked across the hall, then grabbed him by the throat. Tom grunted as he was forcibly slammed against the wall, and Matthew snarled into his ear, “She _is_ my business, and if you have harmed her I swear I will rip off your head.”

His fingers drove into the flesh of Tom’s throat, feeling his predatory instincts pervade every inch of his being. He knew what it was to be a hunter, but to be driven by enough anger and viciousness to turn him into a killer was not something he had felt in a long time. In spite of that, he was ready to destroy anything that hindered him or harmed anyone, no matter how many lives he had to take.

“There’ll be no need for that kind of violence from you, Matthew,” spoke a voice that made him grow cold.

It had been a lifetime since he had heard that voice, one that every evil of the world might possess. It belonged to something that could make the most deplorable man go weak-kneed; so cold-blooded he was that Hell would freeze over if he ever passed into it. Matthew dreaded to look behind him, but he had anticipated this moment since the last time he had seen him, centuries before.

He turned around and saw the horrible, unchanged face of Sir Richard Carlisle.

“It’s good to see you again,” Sir Richard said. He smiled fixedly, the awful curve of his sharp white teeth just visible.

“I’m afraid I can’t say the same,” retorted Matthew. He retained his grip on Tom, but kept his livid red eyes focused on the devil behind him.

Sir Richard smirked. He tilted his head, regarding Matthew curiously. “You haven’t changed – much. I suppose you are a bit stronger now. At least, I’d hope so.”

Every word dripped with venom, as if he were a poisonous snake. His eyes seemed to emit sparks of hellfire as they stared, unblinking, at his opponent.

“Would you like to find out?” Matthew said, reaching for his dagger with one hand.

“Oh believe me, I would,” Sir Richard replied.

His expression shifted, increasingly vindictive now, and if ever a face connoted murder, it was his at that moment. A skeletal hand shot out and Matthew’s eyes fixed with his, powerless to defy him. His own hand fell away from Tom, who scurried out of the way.

“I know what you came here to do – I had the feeling you would,” Sir Richard said. “But your presence is not welcome; I cannot allow you to be in our way.”

Matthew’s mind was enslaved to the puppet-master: he could not control his own body, nor exert any defence. Sir Richard’s power was greater than his by tenfold, and there was no way to prevent his succumbing to it. The satanic influence clung to his brain, coursing over him like a dark wave. He knew that he was now utterly vulnerable, and the thought terrified him.

When Sir Richard bid it, Matthew crumpled to the floor, completely senseless.

“Did you kill him?” Tom asked timidly.

Sir Richard smile was morbid. “A pure death is too merciful for him. I’d rather he continue to suffer through eternal existence, wasting away from his own sin. It’s why I turned him, after all.”

* * *

 

“Carson?” Lord Grantham looked around the breakfast room curiously. For quite a while, he had been the only one at the table. “Where are the girls?”

He was not in any way anxious – he knew where one of them was – and there were a myriad of simple reasons as to why the other two were not yet down. But he had not yet come to the discovery that one of them had been kidnapped in the middle of the night. As for the other one—

“I’m not certain, m’lord,” Mr Carson said. “Shall I see if I can’t find them?”

“Please,” Lord Grantham said, reopening his newspaper.

Mr Carson hurried out into the big hall. He called out to Daisy, who was making her way upstairs with her buckets of cleaning tools. “When you get into Lady Mary and Lady Sybil’s bedrooms, please make sure that everything is alright,” he said to her.

Daisy nodded timidly: she knew she’d be in trouble if she disregarded Mr Carson’s orders, but she still trembled at the thought of entering Lady Mary’s bedroom. She had avoided it for the past few weeks and no one had complained – Lady Mary herself had said that she wouldn’t mind not having a fire, even though it was growing colder in the mornings. But if she was still in her room …

Daisy went to Lord and Lady Grantham’s bedroom first, just to hold off of going into the room she hated most. It was a good thing for Lady Mary as well, for it gave her a few more minutes to talk to Anna.

“You can’t tell anyone where I’m going,” Mary instructed Anna as she hurriedly put on a coat.

“But what should I tell them?” Anna asked fretfully.

Mary was without ideas. “I don’t know. Say you didn’t see me after I got dressed. I’ve gone missing, just like Sybil.”

Anna nodded, still unassured, and went out the door to tell somebody. Mary unfastened the window and attempted to prepare herself for what she was about to do.

Lord Grantham had only been waiting for a few moments before Carson returned, distressed.

“It appears they’re not in the house, m’lord,” Carson told him.

“Where are they?” Lord Grantham asked, sipping his tea.

“No one knows, m'lord,” the butler said.

Lord Grantham looked at Carson sharply.

“Anna says that Lady Mary was dressed when she left the room, but never saw her leave. And Lady Sybil was not in her bed this morning.”

“Good God!” Lord Grantham stood up very suddenly. “I want them found before anything happens to them. Send for the police, gather a search party, find out if anyone saw them go.”

Carson hurried out of the room again. Lord Grantham let out a long breath and wondered how much more chaos with his daughters he could take before he went mad.

All hell seemed to break loose inside the house. But outside, only a short distance away, flitted a large bat, flapping silently away through the dark misty morning.

Matthew had not told her exactly how to transform and fly, but he would not have needed to anyway – the knowledge had embedded itself into Mary. Once she had unlatched the window, all she had to do was will herself to transfigure, and the change happened in an instantaneous rush. It nearly overwhelmed her to believe that she could now turn into another creature, and had she not seen Matthew do it first she would have thought it impossible – but it was the only way she could slip out of the house without being seen by anyone.

As she skimmed beneath the iron-grey sky, she found flying gave her a feeling of exhilaration that almost frightened her. To see the country span farther than if she were standing on the ground, to feel the wind rush underneath her as she flapped her thin wings, had before only been conceivable in dreams.

However, her newfound ecstasy was overshadowed by her panic. She stole onto the train just before it pulled out of the station, staying hidden in the luggage car. This was her one chance to rest before she may have to fight for her life, for her sisters, and for Matthew. Her only reassurance lay in the belief that Pamuk would stall during the day, when his power was not at its full strength, and that for a few hours her family would be safe.

And as she traveled on, she prayed that she would not arrive too late.

* * *

 

“ _If you don't fight, you won't feel a thing.”_

His words sounded as if they were being spoken from a mile away, but the sharp pain of Kemal’s fangs digging into Edith’s neck was all too real. His reeking lips were pressed firmly against her aching throat, and as her blood ran into his mouth, he elicited deep, lustful moans of satisfaction. Edith screamed and thrashed frenetically, but Kemal’s body was like a heavy stone, pinning her down fast to the bedsheets. Every lap of his tongue seemed to putrefy her skin, every swallow he took drew out a little more of her courage. Her nightmare had become reality.

When at last he pulled away, Edith was crying as Kemal leaned over her, laughing maliciously. His red eyes glittered in the dark. Edith winced when she saw her blood drip from the sneering mouth onto her cheek and run down her face. The smell threatened to make her sick.

“Did that hurt, little girl?” Kemal jeered. Edith, with what remained of her tenacity, did not move.

“You should understand that there is more to come, and it _will_ be immeasurably worse,” Kemal said in a snakelike whisper. “I’ve seen into your mind and I know of your relation with Mary. You’ve taunted and tormented each other since childhood, but now that she is more formidable than you could ever hope to be, I have no doubt that she will exact every practical torture upon your miserable mortal soul.”

Edith shivered from the chill in the room and in his words. Goosebumps had formed on her flesh, and she was shaking so badly she rattled the bed. She was not certain to what time it was, but if it was still day it was too dark. Thick curtains hung over the windows, preventing even a sliver of sunlight to enter the house. Thunder rolled overhead.

The vampires were all waiting for Mary to discover her sisters held hostage here, but in the meanwhile Kemal was finding entertainment by other means. But with pathetic amusements such as Lady Edith, his attention wore thin quickly. As she lay listlessly, bruises forming on her punctured neck, her eyes trailed Kemal as he exited the room, locking the door behind him.

Tom stood guard over Sybil in another bedroom. She was sitting on the bed, still in only her nightgown, and he stood as far as he could from her. Her fear was making her scent all the more inviting, but for once in his life he was resisting temptation. He could not do it to her – just yet.

When she had woken up, looking around in a befuddled state, Tom had flashed his fangs at her, just to subdue her, and now she was cowering on the bed. She shivered and stared in fright at Tom, too afraid to move. When she heard Edith begin to scream she flinched, eyes darted about like a fly, and Tom could not help but feel sorry for the trembling girl. He could hear her thoughts, and her silent panicked words left him troubled.

Tom had been in an immortal state for over fifty years, growing up in a starving land. From a young age he saw the horrific deeds mortals would commit for food, money, anything their hearts desired, and soon he began to abhor his own kind. The richest of humans he especially despised, who turned their backs on the famished children who came sobbing to their gates.

The night he had died was foggy in his memory. As a horde of thieves looted the village and knifed anyone who tried to defend their goods, a small swarm of vampires descended upon them, feasting on the few who were not dead or wasted away from hunger. Tom did not understand why he had been transformed while his family lay cold on the ground, and he could not remember consenting to the change. Nonetheless, the vampire who had turned him, whose face he could not recall, had left him alone amongst the charred remains of his home.

In the beginning, he had been unrestrained, using his capabilities to inflict suffering upon humans. He had chased down and located the families of the thieves who had ransacked his home, attacking even the children without a second thought. Feeding on their alcohol-soaked blood, hearing their last gasping screams, then watching them die with fear in their eyes had given him enormous pleasure – and he had sought similar ones for a long time after.

But gazing at Sybil … he felt the odd emotion of pity that came so infrequently to him. The manner with which she crouched motionless, eyes wide and ears ringing with her sister’s screams, Tom knew that this event would traumatize her for a long time. He wanted to comfort her, even in some small way, but to approach her would mean quelling the urge to attack her, and he was not confident that he could.

Another scream from the room shattered the silence and startled Sybil enough that she let out a little cry. She covered her ears with quivering hands, blinking furiously. Her fingers and lips were blue. She had been shivering for some time now.

All at once, Tom could not bear to stand still any longer. On one of the chairs lay a blanket, and he unfolded it as he slowly advanced towards Sybil. She recoiled, as he expected, and he held the blanket out to her. She looked up at Tom, confused at this unexpected act.

“Take it,” he whispered. But Sybil did not move. In her face there was a trace of suspicion, and Tom understood why.

Sybil flinched as Tom draped the blanket over her shoulders, trying not to touch her. He stepped away, going to stand at the foot of the bed. He could tell that Sybil had brightened a bit when she pulled the blanket closer around her, but she could not bring herself to look at him, instead looking down at her numb feet.

The screaming had stopped by now, and Tom stiffened as he heard Kemal’s slow, careful steps come along the hall. He was not afraid so much for himself as he was for Sybil; did Kemal intend to torture her for his own amusement as well?

When he entered, Sybil forced herself to look away. A good thing too, in Tom’s opinion, because he was sure her reaction to seeing her sister’s blood staining Kemal’s face would not be pleasant. Kemal regarded Sybil with a lecherous gaze, and Tom almost acted on his instinct to take up a protective stance – what was going on with him?

“I assume you encountered no inconveniences bringing her here?” Kemal asked Tom.

“No, sir,” Tom replied quietly.

“And you delivered my letter?”

Tom nodded.

Kemal smiled toothlessly. “I must say that I am surprised you carried out your task with such efficiency. Pleasantly surprised, of course.”

His eyes directed at Sybil. “You must be in need of a drink now.”

Sybil cried out, comprehending his words. She looked pleadingly at Tom, whispering, “Please no, please no,” over and over under her breath.

Kemal laughed unsympathetically. Tom glanced tentatively at Sybil, who was growing deathly pale.

“Why do you hesitate?” Kemal said to Tom. “You may take her now.”

“I … can’t,” Tom faltered. “I can’t do it … to her.”

Kemal looked skeptically at him. “This is quite unlike you to abstain from feeding. Why the sudden refusal?”

“She doesn’t deserve this,” Tom said brazenly. “Neither of them do.”

Kemal’s red irises became livid. “Do you _pity_ this girl, this petty human?” he spat angrily. “Or do you wish to learn what happens when you disobey me, you craven cur?”

Fire seared through Tom’s empty veins, and Sybil watched his face contort in pain. Tom gasped for air he didn’t need, supporting himself on the bedstead as he struggled to stay upright. He heard a thousand voices in his brain, all saying things he could not understand, but they were all wrathful. He managed to catch a glimpse at Sybil; she was watching the scene with wide eyes and quivering lips.

Kemal waited ten seconds before releasing Tom from his agony. That period of punishment had made his will to resist Sybil weaker. He knew of the monster’s clear intent of hearing Sybil scream, and he would be the one to cause her to do so.

“Take her, now,” Kemal commanded. “That is an order.”

Broken, Tom climbed onto the bed, trying to ignore Sybil’s distressing sobs and hushed pleading. He was sorry that he could not put her to sleep so she would not feel him feeding from her. His fangs extended as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her head back with gentle hands. He whispered a sincere, “I’m so sorry,” in her ear before digging his fangs into her neck.

Her blood was sweeter than he had imagined, the taste far more gratifying than any meal he had had for a long time. His soft moans interlaced with her painful gasps, her skin becoming colder as his grew warmer. Quickly, his mind slipped out of his control as he succumbed to the ambrosian pull, greedily sucking down as much as he could at once.

Sybil’s groans grew feeble until she was in half a swoon. Feeling his victim droop beneath him, Tom lessened his grip on her, but he remained at the wounds at her throat, drawing blood out more slowly now. It was only until his hunger was, temporarily, sated, that he drew away, his lips soaked in red.

Complacent, Kemal left the room. Tom was indeed a strange specimen; steadfast and militant, but the right words bent him to obedience.

He went downstairs, back to where Sir Richard was still sitting in the parlour. At his feet lay Matthew Crawley, recumbent as an interred body. His blue eyes were open and glassy, but Kemal was aware that Sir Richard was holding him in a trance.

“I expected you to be elsewhere,” Kemal began. “You have him in such a deep sleep he won’t wake for days.”

Sir Richard did not look up at Kemal; he was preoccupied with intently watching Matthew. “It has been a very long time since I last met him.”

“How is it you know him?” Kemal asked.

“I first laid eyes on him at the Tudo r court, when Henry was engaged to Anne Boleyn.” Sir Richard’s eyes grew stony, remembering moments long dead. “He was, even then, a handsome fellow, but also someone who tangled himself up in things he should have ignored. He’s one of the few I’ve changed,” he added.

Kemal, moving only his eyes, observed Matthew and Sir Richard. Matthew was undeniably a striking creature, trapped forever in youth. His translucent blue eyes were hypnotically vivid, even when staring emptily at the ceiling. Kemal admired that he was simultaneously alluring and terrifying; how effortless it must be to ensnare his own victims and place them under his spell.

Sir Richard, on the other hand, did not appear so prepossessing: he had not been turned at a young age, and there was much that was strong but rough about his physiognomy. His skin was a waxen grey that truly marked him as a walking corpse. His mouth was rather cruel, as if locked in a sneer at all times. In his experience, Kemal often found that vampires became more beautiful after the change, almost to the point of mesmeric, but that seemed to have escaped Sir Richard. Nevertheless, he was far from hideous, and he had cunning and capability that Kemal found indispensable.

“You do know that his lordship will likely order a search, and one of the first places the police will look is here,” Sir Richard said incisively.

“Do you really think that a couple of constables are a match for us?” Kemal questioned.

Sir Richard’s eyes betrayed his indignation, but he spoke slowly and without raising his voice. “Do not think to patronise me, Pamuk. This is not the time to act irrationally.”

“You will do well not to be the same way towards me,” growled Kemal.

Sir Richard opened his mouth to argue more, but he had to exercise great discretion now that he was provoked. Kemal’s insanity disturbed even him; his rage was abrupt and uncontainable, his compulsion to dominate unrelenting.

Kemal looked smug at his having the upper hand. “Go out and guard the foyer, then. If anyone comes to the door—”

“I know how to take care of that,” Sir Richard said, standing up.

Kemal looked down at Matthew, still motionless on the floor. “What about him? Will he stay as he is without you here?”

Sir Richard turned to look over his shoulder to Matthew, with a dark sort of smile that could have made a saner counterpart of Kemal quail. “I doubt we’ll need to lock him in a coffin. As long as nothing disturbs his body, he won’t regain control of it until tonight, I think. Even then …”

Sir Richard deliberately trailed off, and without another word, exited the parlour. Kemal too withdrew silently, locking the door behind him.

* * *

 

_For four nights he lay on his bed, unmoving, waiting for the moment the soldiers came for him. He thought it strange that they had not already – Carlisle should have sent them by now. But he knew what to expect when they did: they’d arrest him, put him in chains, and lock him in the Tower. The trial would only be formalities, for he knew his guilt, and he would not once object to his imminent execution. If he was lucky, he would be given the quick death of a beheading. If not, he would not care, for no torture could contest with what he was experiencing now._

_He had been hiding for all these lonely nights, and with every passing hour he listened intently for a dozen footsteps pounding up the stairs, or perhaps the drawing of swords from sheaths. He would not fight; to die would be mercy._

_Lavinia. His poor, dear Lavinia._

_Matthew remembered, so clear in his memory, her glassy eyes staring at him, but_ _not_ _into him. She moved as if asleep, walking with languid steps, lifting her arms as if they were made of marble, and they had no degree of strength. He could see nothing of herself in her body, no emotion in her expression. He called her name, but she was so entrenched in the spell that could not hear him; perhaps she did not even remember her name. She was more of a corpse than a living person._

_And when he_ _realized_ _that she would never be his again, he took the dagger from the sheath at his side and pushed it deep into her heart._

_It was her blood that stained his clothes and face and crept under his fingernails. Her own lifeblood blackened the green silk gown she was wearing. The red on the dagger shone as brightly as a ruby when he wrenched it from her breast. His grief was marked by his own cry of anguish, yet she fell to the floor with hardly a gasp or a widen of her glassy eyes. He had lost her long before her blood began to seep through the wooden floorboards._

_He had run, leaving her still-warm body behind. Now he hid and waited in a room as dark as the sky outside. It was only a matter of time before Carlisle summoned the soldiers and informed the king of his sin._

_Matthew was so wracked with guilt, with grief, and with fear that his own heart seemed to decay within him. He did not have the courage to stab or slash himself with his tarnished knife, knowing that such an act would send him to hell. His Lavinia was waiting in Heaven for him, he was sure, and he did not want to damage his chances of reuniting with her. He could only wait until he confessed and begged forgiveness to a man of the Church, then died at the execution His Majesty would arrange for him. An axe to the neck would hopefully be his fate. He had been a faithful follower of the king, just as all of his family before him were; surely the king would not deny him a clean demise._

“ _Musing upon your death, Matthew?”_

_He suppressed any visible shock at hearing that voice. After being surrounded by prolonged silence, he had not been expecting it. There had been no footsteps to mark an arrival; he would have heard them in the absolute quiet. But even without seeing a face, Matthew knew who it was._

“ _Do you desire to be condemned as a murderer and burn in the flames of Hell?” drawled the voice in the dark._

“ _I pray to God that He shall forgive me,” Matthew answered, not turning to address the man directly. He despised Richard Carlisle with every bone in his body for the witchcraft he exercised upon Lavinia. It was he who had truly killed her, cursing her to be but a shell of her former self._

_He heard Carlisle laugh bitterly, a hard and soulless sound. “I was certain your faith had failed you by now. Do you still believe that you are still something worth saving in His eyes? Your prayers did not save your beloved Lavinia, did they?”_

_He stepped closer to the bed, and Matthew felt his shadow shroud him. The man spoke just as Satan would, his true self a terrifying persona. Matthew’s voice shook as he asked, “Why do you still torment me?”_

“ _Because you interfered,” Carlisle responded shortly. “You should have know you could not win, yet still you prodded and frustrated. And all because of dear Lavinia. She could have lived on with me.”_

_It was almost impossible for Matthew to conceal his anger. “I would never surrender her to_ you _.”_

“ _You should have,” the monster returned. “You should have turned your back on her. But now she’s damned – because of you!”_

_Out of the darkness Carlisle appeared, and Matthew had no time to react as he was pinned on his back with enormous strength. Though he was strong, he could not fight off his captor. His arms felt as if they were held down by a block of stone. His heart raced, and he tried to keep from trembling, but it was a pointless effort. Above him loomed the face that he had always thought sallow and skeletal, and now it wore a savage expression._

“ _You demon!” he cried._

_Carlisle enclosed his unyielding hand around Matthew’s throat. “If I am a monster, then so are you. You slaughtered your betrothed with hardly a hesitation. I should have destroyed you before you claimed her life.”_

_Matthew yelled out in rage. “Then kill me! Kill me and be free of me.”_

“ _You are not worthy enough to die!” hissed Carlisle. “You deserve to live forever in your guilt and agony. You deserve to live as a monster.”_

_A new fear had_ _paralysed_ _Matthew: this was not a dream. He stared up at Carlisle, the iron hand gripping his throat, and his heart nearly stopped at what he saw. The blue eyes he had seen a moment ago were now as red as the blood on his dagger._

“ _No – what are you?”_

_Carlisle smiled. “What you will be soon.”_

_His teeth – they were not human canines now. Matthew was frozen with terror; he understood who – what – Carlisle really was. He knew what was about to happen to him._

Oh God _, he thought,_ this cannot be!

“ _No! Please, no!”_

_He was silenced by a feral hiss. Cold fingers grasped his hair and wrested his head back. He cried aloud as his throat was bared, a talon running lightly down a line. Some malediction in his brain prevented him from inhibiting the monster preparing to prey on him; he had no power to resist._

_Carlisle leaned forward with teeth as sharp as a dog’s, inching closer as Matthew lay shock-still. A cold mouth settled on his neck, and before he could utter another plea, Carlisle’s fangs dug into his flesh. The pain was excruciating: the creature was merciless as it sucked his blood, not halting to give him a moment of relief. Its intent to create as much misery as it could was not futile, and it grew stronger from the despair it was causing. Drinking messily, it did not notice as blood spurted out across the sheets and spilled onto his victim._

_Matthew groaned as he felt his life being slowly drained from him. He had never known a horror such as this, to be consumed by a demon from the pit, forced to listen to its moans of relish. He could no longer strain to fight it off; his strength was rapidly being drawn away, diminishing as the creature remained attached to his repast. All he could do was wish for this slow path to death to finally cease._

_But his fate would be worse._

_He was so weak in the end, so close to death, that he had no will to move as Carlisle came away from his mutilated throat. Blood was splattered across his neck, and he felt cold air at the gaping perforation in the side. Carlisle leaned over him, and from the awful mouth a droplet of blood dripped onto his cheek. Matthew felt its warmth as it trickled down his now cool skin._

_With indistinct vision, he watched as Carlisle brought his wrist up to his own lips. A sickening champ, then the wounds in the veins welled up with dark, viscous blood._

“ _I condemn you to living death; to walk eternally in the shadows; to forever remember your own sin; to perpetually thirst for human blood.”_

_And with that, Carlisle lowered his arm to Matthew’s lips, rubbing it around his mouth in a gory smear, pressing hard to prevent him from breathing. Unwilling to suffocate, Matthew gulped down the weird liquid, and the uncanny effect began almost immediately. He was helpless against the instant, inhuman urge to swallow the blood filling his mouth. His tongue lapped at the bite, languorous at first, but soon more insistent as his body sought for more. He closed his eyes as he drank, feeling his mortal life expire._

_There was nothing he could have done to stop his transformation into the very thing he was drinking from. From the moment that Richard Carlisle had decided to kill him, his fate had been irreversibly decided. His nightmare was beginning._

* * *

 

The moment the train arrived in London, Mary wasted no time in making her way to her aunt’s home. She didn’t consider calling for a cab – as a lone woman arriving from the train station with no luggage, it would have looked peculiar, especially if someone she knew caught sight of her, not to mention that a car was too slow in the London traffic. Instead, she reformed into a bat, skirting out of the train and through the station as swiftly as she could. She knew that she would likely be seen by somebody (what would they think when they saw a bat flying in the daytime?) but doubtless no one would believe it to be her.

Although the late afternoon sky was gathering with storm clouds, she could still feel the shine of the sun against her wings. The very light made Mary’s flight shaky, as if it had the potency to diminish her strength. She wanted to fly faster, but she knew she would require all of what little power she had if she were to face Kemal.

By the time she got to Belgrave Square, Mary as if she’d been flying all day. Touching down to the ground and reverting to her normal form, she felt an irritating ring in her forehead and she swayed on her feet. The debilitating sun was only now completely obscured by the storm clouds.

Taking a few moments to rest next to her aunt’s home, Mary attempted to calm herself. Even outside the house, she could sense there was something not right about the air in there, something … evil. No light could be seen from the windows, and the building was exuding a faint stench of .

_He’s hurt them, I know it!_ Mary realized. _Damn him! He won’t live another night for this._

Compelled by her thirst for retribution, Mary leapt up to the parlour window, folded her hand into a tight fist, and put it through the glass. Shards rained onto the floor with a clink, and she climbed through small hole into the cold, lightless room. She paused, listening for any movement within the house; there was none. At first she too remained still, waiting for some plan to formulate in her head, until she saw—

“Matthew!” She was instantly at his side, where he lay unmoving on the floor, his head fallen to one side. Dread clutched at her heart as she noticed his eyes open and vacant. Anyone would have mistaken him for dead, and so did she at first glance, for there was no breath, no beating of the heart. Yet he was not dust, so there had to be sentience in him still.

“Matthew? Can you hear me?” Mary cupped his face in her hands, wishing there was warmth in his skin to convince her that he was not completely dead. “Please wake up, Matthew! Wake up!”

_Wake up_...

Matthew heard Mary cry out his name, her desperate voice faint inside his head. It was she who was touching his face, bringing him out of his trance. Blinking several times, his misty vision became clearer; he saw Mary’s face above his, and she was smiling as he stirred.

“Mary,” he said gently. “How – what – are you doing here?”

He tried to sit up and gingerly touched the back of his head, where a dull throbbing was just dissipating. How long had he been out, he wondered.

“Kemal took Sybil,” she said. “I had to come. They’re both here somewhere, I know it.”

“Did you tell anybody you’re here?” Matthew asked. “Do your parents know you’ve gone?”

“Only Anna knows, but she won’t tell them the truth,” Mary affirmed.

“I don’t understand,” Matthew said uncomprehendingly. “How did you get out without anyone else noticing you?”

“I … flew out to the station, and then to here,” Mary said sheepishly. She could not help but laugh at the expression on Matthew’s face.

“You figured out how to become a bat and fly already?” he said, stunned. “Mary, I am amazed at you.”

“I’m just glad I didn’t fall out of the sky,” Mary shrugged.

Her heart felt lighter now that she found Matthew unhurt, but the danger was not gone. “We need to find Sybil and Edith. Where could they be?”

“Upstairs, perhaps,” Matthew answered, craning his head towards the ceiling. “They caught me before I could find them.”

“Then we need to hurry and get them out,” Mary declared, striding to the door.

“Mary, no!” Matthew dashed in front of her and grabbed her arm. “You can’t endanger yourself, not with Pamuk here waiting for you. He meant for you to come, and if he so much as touches you he can fully control you. He turned you; he has that kind of power.”

“I have to save them,” Mary insisted. “He’s hurt them, and I have to kill him.”

“How can you? You can’t take him with your bare hands, you aren’t strong enough—”

“I couldn’t let _you_ fight him by yourself,” Mary exclaimed. “If something happened to you and I didn’t know it …” She paused, her control over her emotions waning. “I don’t care how much danger _I’m_ putting myself into, I won’t let you do this alone. I may not be as strong as you, but if I can somehow help you to kill him, then I’ll try.”

There had originally been misgivings in the both of them – Kemal really was powerful enough to destroy them both within seconds – but in each other’s presence, it seemed that whatever strength they had lost was all at once regained. Both could not explain why, but nothing seemed to need a reason now; neither could go against whatever foes awaited them alone.

“Then we must be quick,” Matthew said. “Pamuk is not the only villain in this house, and once sunrise comes, they will grow stronger. But so will we,” he added with a slight smile.

He tried the door handle, but it was locked tight. Almost casually, he ripped it out of the wood, the door swinging open of its own accord. Mary opened her mouth to say something about destruction of private property, but she heard a distant whimper from somewhere upstairs.

“Sybil,” Mary gasped. “God, what has he done to her?”

She ran out into the foyer before Matthew could pull her back. Sprinting to the stairs, she called out to her sister—

Unyielding arms were suddenly around her, pinning her arms to her sides with crushing exertion. Her capturer was behind her, but once he spoke she knew who it was.

“You’re here, finally,” Sir Richard purred into her ear. “Kemal will be thrilled.”

“You let her go!” demanded Matthew.

Mary twisted and turned in Sir Richard’s arms, but her efforts were pointless. The strength in his hands that seized her wrists made her wince.

“Why should I?” Sir Richard snapped.

Matthew responded by producing his dagger, holding it in a combative grip. His eyes were burning ruthlessly. “Release her now, or I slit your throat.”

Sir Richard’s eyes narrowed, concentrating on the dagger. It was as if he recognized it, Mary thought. He seemed flustered by its presence, but only for a few brief seconds. He let go of Mary so quickly that she collapsed, but Matthew did not lower his knife.

“Do you believe we are equals, that you have even a slight chance of injuring me?” said Sir Richard scornfully. “Underestimating me is a mistake you have made before.”

He outstretched a hand, and Mary watched as Matthew writhed in pain as if being tortured from the inside. The knife clattered to the floor. Matthew crumpled to his knees, clutching his heart as though a white-hot blade had severed it. The pain was so intense that he could not open his eyes.

Mary sprung up and grabbed Sir Richard’s arm, jerking his concentration away from Matthew. She felt his hard, malignant eyes on her as he shoved her away. Matthew scrambled to his feet, picking his knife off the floor and running straight for Sir Richard. Sir Richard was prepared for the attack, and caught hold of the weapon at the hilt. It was only a finger’s width away from his throat.

Neither man loosened his grip on the knife. Matthew gritted his teeth as he clasped the dagger with both hands, showing his eyeteeth long and pointed. Mary lunged forward once more at Sir Richard, but a soft, hellish voice halted her.

“Mary!”

All three of them looked and saw Kemal standing at the top of the stairs. His fangs were still marked with blood at the tips. From afar, his scarlet eyes glittered with excitement. With a stab of horror, Mary backed away, her flesh crawling and her blood turning to ice.

“Mary … my love,” Kemal whispered. “You’ve come at last.”

Mary screamed.

 


	10. Ashes and Shadow

Mary screamed a piercing and terrifying cry as Kemal leapt from the stairs and landed lightly in front of her.

“It’s been a lifetime to me since I last laid eyes on such a beautiful creature,” he breathed. “Now you are with me again, and you shall never leave my side. You are mine for eternity.”

Mary shrank against the wall, complete terror overshadowing her. She looked more like a vulnerable child than a vampire, recoiling from Kemal’s hands reaching forward to caress her face. He leaned forward to kiss her.

“Don’t you dare—!” Matthew’s shout turned into a strangled gasp as Sir Richard pushed him backwards by his throat, pinning him fast to the wall. He twisted the knife out of Matthew’s hands and positioned the tip at his throat.

Kemal shook his head, laughing softly. “You chose the wrong allies,” he said to Mary. He leaned close again, taking ahold of her hand.

She raised her other hand and struck him across the face. His head snapped to the side, so quickly that a human neck would have fractured from the impact. Warily, he touched his fingers to his face and winced. Her nails had carved deep scars across his cheek.

Mary’s red eyes burned with all-consuming hatred. She hissed at him, so malicious a sound that it visibly stunned him.

“Don’t you _ever_ touch me again!” she hurled back. “Do you think that I ever loved you? You know nothing of love.”

When Kemal’s shock finally succeeded he raised a pale hand in front of her eyes, just as Sir Richard had done to Matthew before. She braced herself for the searing pain, but there was none – her body went slow and her mind became unresponsive, refusing to do what she wanted.

“I will not stand for your foolishness,” Kemal declared. “I made you what you are. _You are mine_.”

“She will never be yours,” Matthew protested.

Sir Richard pressed the knife blade against his throat. “You are becoming rather troublesome, Matthew,” he said quietly. “I’d much rather let you go on living this death you find so miserable, but if you give me enough reason, I’ll simply kill you. Painfully, I might add.”

At once, he was knocked to the floor by a solid flash. Matthew caught a brief glance of Tom Branson’s face before Sir Richard rolled over and lashed out. His hand fastened around Tom’s throat, claws readying to rip the flesh out. Matthew yanked Sir Richard's arm away, and his shoulder gave a gruesome crunch. Tom jumped away and leapt panther-like across the room, shoving Kemal away from Mary.

“Go get your sisters,” Tom grunted as he held Kemal down to the floor. Mary looked worriedly to Matthew.

“Mary, go!” he shouted, snatching up the dagger that had fallen from Sir Richard’s hand. Hesitating no more, Mary rushed up the stairs.

Unbalanced, Sir Richard climbed to his feet and rubbed his shoulder, grimacing. “You _have_ grown stronger,” he remarked. “I must confess that I am impressed. You managed to cause me pain.”

“I can cause a lot more.” Matthew held the knife, elbow bent, rage overflowing. “I promised I'd never murder another man for a long time, but now I can't wait to cut your throat with this.”

Sir Richard looked searchingly at the long knife. “You would murder me with the same weapon you used to ‘free’ your beloved?” He laughed. “Frankly, I am surprised you still have it.”

“If I cannot have true death, then I will have revenge,” Matthew said bitterly. “I swore to that a long time ago.”

“Yet you never hunted me down,” Sir Richard indicated. “You skulked in the shadows, but did you ever think to pursue me? I’ve been living in London for years; my name is printed in my papers. So why, if you desired revenge, did you not act until now?”

“Because until now, I did not have something worth fighting for,” Matthew explained. “I now have a good reason to kill.”

Sir Richard laughed in disparagement. “You’re a vampire, Matthew. You’ve always had a good reason to kill.”

Tom emitted a cry as he was pitched to the floor. “You son of a bitch!” he croaked.

Kemal grasped Tom’s throat as though it were a rag and flung him across the room. He slammed into the wall, falling to the floor and remaining still as stone. Kemal turned away and stalked towards the stairs, calling for Mary.

“It seems you may be needed elsewhere,” Sir Richard said. Matthew’s eyes did not leave him.

“Pamuk!” Sir Richard said thunderously. Kemal stopped and looked in his direction. “My business here is no more.”

“What?” Kemal barked.

“You can finish your scheme alone. I need no reward from you. I shall find it for myself,” Sir Richard said.

His body dissolved into a heavy cloud of black smoke that filled the foyer with a bloody smell. The smoky mass hurtled to the door, splintering into thin slivers that were thrown across the street.

Matthew’s outrage was unmistakable; he screamed his uncontainable fury as he saw the black smoke disappear high above the rooftops, camouflaged against the rumbling storm clouds. He shouted a single word, “Coward!”

The scratches on Kemal’s cheek seemed to palpitate with his own anger, though he was promptly startled by the stark change in his rival’s appearance. Matthew’s pallid skin was colourless by contrast of his inflamed eyes. There was only hatred in them as he stared at Kemal, the expression on his face so hellish it appeared to have sapped all of his lasting humanity.

Red eyes burning with rage, sharp teeth bared in a beastly snarl, he leapt on top of Pamuk.

* * *

 

Mary rushed to the first bedroom door, picking up the musky scent of Edith’s blood. She turned the handle and found it was bolted. Ignoring her previous qualms about wrecking her aunt’s home, she rammed her elbow into the wood. She must have had more strength than she believed, for the door ripped away from the hinges and fell with a thud.

Edith was lying on the bed, limp as a rag doll. A disgusting bruise blackened her neck. Flecks of blood stained the messy bedsheets. She was breathing without much strain, but in her semi-conscious state she was dazed and distressed.

Mary took ahold of her shoulders and shook her, calling her name over and over. Edith’s eyes fluttered completely open. Her befuddled vision first discerned Mary’s bright red irises, and for a moment she reverted to her original hysterical state.

“Edith, it’s alright, it’s only me,” Mary soothed as Edith tried to pull back. Edith responded to Mary’s calm voice by holding on to her as if she could not let go.

“Oh Mary, he bit me … it hurt so much,” she sobbed weakly. “I-I couldn’t stop him.”

“I know it hurts,” Mary said. “You don’t seem too drained, though. Just calm down. Do you know where Sybil is? Or Aunt Rosamund?”

Edith shook her head, curls bouncing. “I haven’t seen Aunt Rosamund at all. But I think I saw them take Sybil into the next room.”

“I need to get you both out of here,” Mary said urgently. “Can you stand up?”

“I-I don’t know.” Edith tried, but she wobbled on her feet a bit. Mary forced her to sit again and said, “Wait here. I’ll find Sybil.”

Mary hastened to the room next door; when she saw Sybil, her insides lurched. She was lying flat on the bed, far weaker than Edith. Her pallor was sickly and her hands were blue with cold, even though she had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She looked minutes away from death.

“Sybil?” Mary cried “Oh no, Sybil!”

She was too weak from blood loss and made no indication that she was awake. Mary lifted her off the bed, and Sybil’s head rolled back to reveal the puncture wounds on her throat, the blood only recently dried around the holes. Mary took hold of Sybil’s wrist, searching for a beat. Her pulse was weak.

Downstairs there was the grating crack of wood breaking, and a harsh cry followed. Mary recognized it as Matthew, although she had never imagined such a wrathful noise to come from him. Quickly, she wrapped the blanket tighter around Sybil and rushed back to Edith, who was nearly out of her muddled state.

“Stay here,” she commanded. “Whatever happens, stay here.”

Before Edith could object or ask any questions, Mary hurried back to the foyer stairs. She was just in time to see Matthew throw himself onto Kemal. Carlisle was nowhere in sight, but the front door was reduced to splinters.

Mary propelled herself forward and flew through the air briefly to land very close to Tom’s inactive figure. His mouth had fallen open, and Mary could faintly smell blood from it. It smelled very much like … Sybil’s.

Kemal struggled underneath Matthew, trying to escape, but Matthew had the upper hand in their brawl. He sliced at Kemal’s knuckles with the dagger, drawing out blood and a wretched howl. Mary stepped away, transfixed by the violent scene in front of her. Matthew grappled with such aggressiveness that Mary knew Kemal had little chance against him. Kemal reached for her, obviously hoping for some aid, but she only stood watching him endure his agony.

Matthew brought Kemal onto his knees, a wolfish growl catching in his throat. Kemal’s eyes were bright, but not with triumph, as they usually were – this time, there was acute fear. His voice was choked as he uttered her name.

“Mary, my love,” he sputtered. “Don’t let him—!”

Matthew grabbed a fistful of his hair and forced his head back, totally exposing his neck. He pressed the sharp knife to Kemal’s throat.

“I’d kill a thousand people before I let someone like _you_ control Mary!” he said vindictively.

Mary’s eyes went wide, knowing what was to come soon. Matthew met her gaze for one brief second, and within that span of time she saw something chilling within his red eyes – they burned as much as Kemal’s, but with unparalleled anger. Each one of his long taloned fingers seized with vice-like grip. His lips were curled in a cruel snarl, further exposing his fangs that looked twice as sharply-pointed in the dark. There was nothing merciful anymore, hardly a vestige of humaneness to be perceived. Mary did not want to believe it, but in this moment, Matthew terrified her.

Matthew slashed the blade across Kemal’s throat and let him fall. Mary jumped backwards, freezing in place as she gaped at him.

She might have imagined the sensation, which had passed through her quick as lightning, but she had felt the sting of the blade herself. It was noticeable only enough to let her know what had happened had she not been standing in front of it.

“Is he dead?” she asked tentatively. Viscid dark-brown blood was slowly pooling out of his slit throat. His eyes were open, with only a ghost of life behind them.

“No,” Matthew said, observing Kemal with revulsion. “But I should think you don’t want to watch me hack off his head.”

Mary shook her head. She did not feel the least bit ill at seeing Kemal’s gradual slaughter, but rather she did not want to watch Matthew descend further into bloodthirstiness. She could hardly bear to look at him even now.

“Edith is awake and seems alright, but Sybil was bitten recently and I think she’s lost a lot of blood,” Mary informed. “I don’t know if she’ll be strong enough to move.”

“You need to go back to her,” Matthew said. “Keep her warm, and try not to move her too much. Once this demon is dead for good, we’ll help her.”

“But what about Sir Richard? Where is he?”

“Gone. The coward escaped,” Matthew said resentfully. “And he took my chance of revenge along with him.”

“Revenge?” Mary repeated.

Beside the wall, Tom groaned in pain as he regained consciousness. He pushed himself to his feet. Both Mary and Matthew looked at him cautiously.

“If you want to kill me too, go ahead,” Tom said. “I don’t expect you to show me mercy after what I did.”

“You helped kidnap Lady Edith,” Matthew ascertained, “and you drank Lady Sybil’s blood to the point that she will suffer for days.”

“I know I’ve hurt her, and I’m sorry for it,” Tom said regretfully. “I saw how scared she was, and I tried to help her stay calm. I didn’t even want to touch her.” He pointed to Kemal. “He forced me to, and that’s why I did it.”

Matthew still looked doubtful, but Mary let her antagonism slip a little. “If you can help us get Sybil back home, I may consider forgiveness,” she said. “But so help me I’ll wring your neck if she’s critically ill because of you.”

“I understand,” Tom said submissively. “Hurry up and finish the bastard,” he urged. “He’s about thousand years old, and the cut you made won’t keep him down for long.”

Suddenly, Kemal twitched as if he had been jolted by a shot of electricity. Tom and Mary backed away quickly as Kemal rolled over, laying bare his open throat wound.

“Get back to the girls,” Matthew ordered. He watched Tom and Mary rush upstairs, then kneeled on the cold floor. He saw Kemal’s lips move and a faint whisper caught his ear.

“Mary … my one … true love … come back to me,” Kemal rasped, his words somewhat incomprehensible. His eyes flashed between red and brown, darting around the sockets like angry hornets.

Matthew forced him to look up at his face. He felt Kemal tremble beneath him as his eyes focused on the blood-spattered dagger.

“You don’t know what it means to love,” Matthew said scathingly. “I doubt you even knew as a human.”

A flicker of insanity swept through Kemal’s features. “And you? What do _you_ know about _love_?” His horrendous laugh was distorted by his gash.

“I know that I am more capable of it than you,” Matthew answered. “And no one as cruel as you deserves someone like Mary.”

He raised the knife high above Kemal’s head and swiftly plunged it into his neck.

* * *

 

Tom covered Sybil’s ears as Kemal’s roar of pain echoed through the house. The sound was so feral, seething, a storm of rage, and soon it became a noise that no thing should have been capable of making. Edith quivered as she heard his screams and the knife thrusting into him repeatedly.

Mary did not make a sound even as she felt it, barely. To her, it was a vague sensation of something pushing into her throat, hacking through with determination. The link between maker and scion was breaking, she knew. How many others were feeling his demise this very minute? Kemal’s screams soon subsided, but still she felt the indistinct sting of Matthew’s knife, carving through – until there was nothing left at all.

The house was silent. Mary felt as if a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders, revitalizing her, restoring strength to her. At last, there was nothing left for her to fear.

Matthew reappeared in the doorway. The fury in him seemed to have diminished wholly. Blood had splattered in small beads that streaked down his face, but the blade of his knife had been wiped clean.

“How is she?” he asked, motioning to Sybil.

“She’s awfully weak, but she’s in shock too,” Mary said. “Oh God, how am I going to explain this to Mama and Papa?”

“We’ll think of something,” Matthew said consolingly. “We need to get her back home first.”

Tom leapt off the bed and made for the corridor. “Pamuk placed Lady Rosamund and the other servants in a trance and locked them in the pantry downstairs,” he said. “I should make sure that they stay asleep for a while longer. But if it’s alright with you, I’d like to see that Sybil makes it back home safely.”

He dashed away to attend to Lady Rosamund and her household. Matthew stepped forward and took Mary’s hands in his. “You’re safe now. All of you are.”

Mary looked out the window. “The sun is going down just now. We should make it home before midnight.” She tried to hide the weariness in her voice, but the exhaustion over the day was finally creeping up.

It did not go unnoticed by Matthew, however. “Come with me,” he said, leaving no room for refusal. He told Edith, “When Tom comes back, go to the station. We’ll meet you there.”

Tom returned shortly and found only Edith and Sybil in the bedroom. Edith had wrapped her own coat around Sybil.

“I promise I will be gentle with her,” Tom said to Edith.

He took Sybil in his arms and lifter her effortlessly from the bed. Edith rose uneasily and, bracing herself against the wall, followed Tom out to the corridor and down the stairs. Everyone stepped around the thin coating of white dust at the bottom of the stairs.

* * *

 

Lady Rosamund climbed off of her butler and out of the pantry, trying to walk straight despite the black spots that clouded her vision. Her head spun, and her perception of time was confused.

She found window glass littered in the parlour, two broken doors, ruined furniture in the foyer, and the floor covered in white dust and spattered with globs of blood. The front door was reduced to slivers.

Groggily, she managed to reach the telephone and ring up the police. She warned them of the “destructive hooligans” scampering around Belgrave Square.

 


	11. Ad Mortem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets fairly gory, so be warned.

“—once my reporter recognized her, he telephoned me, and I came straight here.”

“Well, Sir Richard, I am at my wit’s end, and if you can aid in finding my daughters at all, I would be indebted to you.”

“I doubt you will worry for too much longer. The police have been dispatched and are making inquiries as we speak. I’m certain they will find them soon enough.”

“That’s a relief, I must say.”

Cora heard her husband's conversation with Sir Richard even with her study door closed, and she rolled her eyes. Was Robert honestly going to ask that man for help? It wasn't that Sir Richard wasn't capable of figuring out enigmas, but he wasn't Cora's favourite person. She had found it so remissible that he arrived after dark, without so much as a telephone call to herald his entrance. It was advantageous to him that dinner had been a casual affair and they had not changed.

_Still, I’d better show my support_ , she thought. And if there was a chance that Sir Richard could find her missing girls, she’d happily employ his assistance.

She caught Sir Richard saying mid-sentence, “—and I’d feel guilty for not doing something to help her.”

“I wasn’t aware of your admiration towards Lady Mary,” Robert replied, his voice muffled from behind the closed library door.

Cora did not hear how Sir Richard answered; his voice had gone low – almost dangerous.

Before she made it into the library, a dull thud came from inside. Cora stopped, listening to silence. She heard nothing more, not even Sir Richard and Robert talking. For a second she wondered if she had even heard correctly. She dismissed the silly idea that she was losing her hearing and turned the handle to the library door. She stepped inside.

It looked empty.

“Robert?”

The shadow enveloped her before she saw it.

* * *

 

Mary and Matthew rejoined the others just before the train left for the north. Sybil was sleeping next to Tom, her head on his shoulder. Edith said nothing, even when she detected the smell of fresh blood around Mary and Matthew. Nobody spoke until they had descended onto the platform at Downton.

It was close to midnight now. The village was completely dark as they passed through it. Edith had rested on the train and regained enough strength to walk without trouble, but Sybil was still debilitated. Tom resumed carrying her during the slow walk to the house.

“How are we going to explain this all to Papa?” Mary wondered anxiously.

Matthew had pondered that for a while, but the only explanation he could construct was what had actually happened in Belgrave Square. “I suppose we could tell him the truth,” he said. “Though I’m not too keen on that.”

“He’ll think us both mad,” Mary concurred.

“Even so, we don’t have much of a choice,” Matthew said. “How else do we explain Sybil’s blood loss, or how she disappeared in the middle of the night?”

Mary sighed despondently. “I should have realized we couldn’t hide it forever.”

Matthew nodded in agreement. “Living at Downton has made it harder for me to hide what I am. But since this happened Lord Grantham will find out sooner or later.”

Mary shivered, though she was hardly cold. “I just hope Sibyl gets better soon.”

“She will,” Matthew reassured, “but she may never forget the trauma she's been through today.”

They presently came up to the large stone house. There were lamps still lit in but a few windows. “I thought they’d be asleep by now,” Mary said, confused, “but I’m sure they’ll come and see Sybil as soon as possible. She rang the doorbell, which chimed inside. They waited.

Mary felt Matthew go very still beside her. “What is it?”

“I can feel something … the same presence around Lady Rosamund’s house,” Matthew said slowly.

He rammed his elbow into the door. Between the wood panels, the lock shattered, and the door swung on its hinges.

“Wha – that's our house you're breaking down!” Edith cried.

Mary understood what Matthew was saying; she could sense it, like a huge aura putting the house under a spell. It made her feel cold inside, filling her heart with dread. If something had happened to her parents—

“Tom, get Sybil and Edith to their rooms. We’ll find Mama and Papa,” she commanded. Tom shifted Sybil in his arms and made for the stairs.

The front hall felt icy cold. Only a single lamp glowed at the far end of the room. Except for their own footsteps there was hardly a sound in the entire manor. It seemed as dead as Aunt Rosamund’s home when Matthew had entered it.

“Where are all the servants?” Mary brought her voice down to a whisper. It should have been much too late for any of them to be up, but if there were lights still on, there had to be a couple still awake.

From the corner of his eye Matthew saw a single maid standing by the green baize door. Her eyes rested upon Mary and Matthew, yet she gave no indication that she noticed them. In fact, she did not move at all. She stood as rigid as a statue.

Mary found one of the footmen, William, standing just outside the dining room. A silver tray he had been carrying lay at his feet. He face carried the same blank expression as the maid’s, and he too stood stiffly as though he were at attention.

“Good God, they’re all in a trance,” Matthew said, astonished.

“All of them?” Mary looked around her. “Where’s Mama and Papa?”

Matthew put back his head and sniffed for Lord Grantham’s aristocratic stench that hung about Downton. “They’re in the library.”

Both of them dashed through the small library, unprepared for what was waiting there. Mary gasped loudly, her eyes widening. She could see her mother’s arm outstretched on the floor behind one of the chairs. Lord grantham was facedown near the fireplace, limbs outspread over the carpet. Sir Richard was sitting in a leisurely fashion on the red couch facing the small library, his feet beside Lord Grantham’s head.

“Judging from the fact that both of you are standing here, I’m guessing Kemal is no more,” he said, breaking the awful silence.

“If you want to live, I suggest you go before I take your head off as well,” Matthew said severely. He was already reaching for the dagger in his jacket; he had no intention of letting Sir Richard walk out freely.

Sir Richard gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Still bent on revenge, are we?”

He stood up and stepped carefully over Lord Grantham’s head. He regarded the knife with a wary, hostile eye, but he did not retreat.

“I had so many chances to kill you – I should’ve taken one of them,” Matthew said loathingly. “Even when I was human, I could have stabbed you or slit your throat.”

“You would not have been able to keep me down for long,” Sir Richard retorted. “But more to the point, you never had the desire to kill before. Even on that night, when I expected you to attack me, you were too busy weeping over your Lavinia’s dead body.”

Mary could almost feel Matthew’s fury flowing off of him, consuming him – it was the same anger that had possessed him when he cut Kemal’s throat. As soon as Sir Richard mentioned the name ‘Lavinia,’ Matthew’s eyes grew fervid, his whole expression blazing with uncontrollable, murderous passion. “Don’t you dare say her name,” he said quietly.

“I’ll do as I please,” Sir Richard mocked, “just as I did with her.”

“You cursed her!” Matthew spat. “You poisoned her mind! You made me believe she no longer loved me!”

“It was what I had to do to secure her for myself,” Sir Richard shrugged. “I could not let a prize like her slip through my fingers.”

“She was no prize for you to take!” Matthew snapped. The red light in his eyes was lurid.

Sir Richard suddenly turned to Mary, who had been watching them with a puzzled face.

“You don’t know this story, do you, Lady Mary?” he said. “Well, I’m not surprised. It’s a long story, and one that invariably causes Matthew suffering to remember.”

Mary looked at Matthew, her head reeling with unanswered questions. His eyes did not meet hers, but some of the fury had abated. He was recalling the past, and it visibly pained him.

Sir Richard smirked. “Go on, Matthew. Tell her. Or shall I?”

“You’ll say nothing,” Matthew said brusquely.

He stood unmoving for a few seconds. It seemed ages to Mary before he lowered the dagger and turned to her. He struggled hard to maintain his controlled countenance.

“Lavinia was my fiancée, when I was alive,” he began slowly. “I met her in London, at the Tudor court. We loved each other very much, and were engaged to be married some time later. She met _him_ ,” he pointed to Sir Richard, sneering with disgust, “and immediately I began to see that she was slipping away. At first I believed she was growing ill, but I saw her with Sir Richard so often that I was sure it was the effect of his seduction. She even told me one day that she was no longer in love with me, yet I could not believe that it was the truth.”

Matthew paused and rubbed his head, as if the memories were causing him a physical pain.

“She began to grow weaker; her skin was always cold and she hardly went outside. She hardly looked me in the eye. I searched for some way to save her: I sent for physicians and men of the Church to help her, but they could do nothing. It was sorcery that I, as a human, could not hope to reverse. I implored her to resist the demon that was destroying her, but she had no more will to.

“I caught them together one night, alone in her room. He was strengthening the enchantment over her. I remember … her eyes had gone empty, so empty that I might have thought her dead had she not been standing up. I imagined her soul darkening from his influence. I could have killed him then, or tried to, but all I could care about was Lavinia.”

Matthew’s voice began to tremble. “I tried to reach out to her, to bring her out of his spell, make her see me again, but the grasp on her was too great. I knew I would never be able to free her. She was too far gone, her mind too befouled. So I did the only thing I could do.”

He touched the blade of his dagger, the metal singing under his fingertips. “I stabbed her in the heart,” he said sadly.

Mary touched her hand to her mouth, her eyes welling up with tears. “My God,” she breathed.

“Her life came to an end right in front of me. I couldn’t bear what I had done to her. I fled, leaving her body with that monster. For four nights I waited in my home, waited for the soldiers to come and arrest me; I expected only to be executed for my crime. But he came alone, in the middle of the night, and … cursed me.”

“A fate you deserve,” Sir Richard said. “To live forever with your guilt.”

“I am ashamed, it is true,” Matthew said to him, his resentment increasing again, “but I’d rather live as a monster than watch her be with someone who manipulated her.”

Almost lazily, Sir Richard flicked his wrist, and Matthew was forcefully thrown to the ground. The knife spun out of his hand through the air. The sharp point pierced the floor and stuck.

“I could have made her happy; her beauty would have lasted forever with me,” Sir Richard hissed. “But thanks to you, her soul is beyond saving. You can blame me for much, but in the end I am not the one who destroyed her.”

He looked towards Mary, and she began to understand what his idea was.

“Nonetheless, I’ll still have my prize,” Sir Richard decided. “I’ve waited a thousand years to be with someone worthy of my attentions, and I will _not_ be thwarted again.

He stepped close to Mary, a malicious glint in his eye.

“No!” she cried. “You can’t do this to me.”

Yet as she spoke she felt an invisible force pull her towards Sir Richard. She had felt the sensation before, when Kemal had tried to trap her, but Sir Richard was making prompter work of it. But before he could touch her, Matthew quickly regained his footing.

“You bastard!” His fist rammed into Sir Richard’s jaw. Mary let out a shout as the two men began to wrestle violently, knocking over table and a vase in their scuffle. Both men emitted wolf-like growls as they attempted to overpower each other. The spontaneity of Matthew’s blow seemed to have subdued Sir Richard, for his movements were blundering and frenzied. It was Matthew who fought with diabolical savagery, his manoeuvres forceful, yet he appeared so animalistic that Mary feared being accidentally struck. She stepped backwards, her ankle brushing the knife.

With a sinuous motion, Matthew pinned Sir Richard to the floor, gripping his throat tightly. Sir Richard desperately scratched at the sharp-ended fingers clasped around him, but the hold was too firm. His eyes widened in shock and he rasped, “How can this be?”

Matthew bared his fangs and dug his nails in deeper, several rivulets of dark blood streaming onto the carpet. “Four centuries of waiting, and now I can finally have the pleasure of killing you.” His hands stiffened, ready to tear apart Sir Richard’s neck.

Mary threw herself at him, trying to pull him away. “Don’t! Please, no!” she cried over and over. Matthew pushed her off of him with little difficulty.

“Matthew, don’t do it!” she pleaded. “You don’t have to kill him.”

“If you want to remain safe, then I have to,” Matthew told her.

Sir Richard chuckled wickedly. “She’s right, Matthew. Will killing me—?”

“Enough!” Matthew screeched. He bent down and took Sir Richard’s neck in his jaws, ripping upwards with vicious force. A chunk of flesh tore away with a hideous ripping sound. He spat the flesh out of his bloodstained mouth, spraying Sir Richard with his own gore.

“Matthew, no more,” Mary begged. “You’ve done enough.”

She recoiled when Matthew turned to her, his lips dripping heavily with blood. “I’m doing this for your sake,” he said. “I’ll be damned if I let anyone threaten you again.”

He watched as Mary stooped and twisted the knife out of the floor. “Then let me do it.”

Matthew stared at her, astonished. “What? Why?”

“You killed Pamuk for me. You have enough blood on your hands for one night. So let me finish him, for you and for Lavinia.”

Matthew looked at her and then Sir Richard. So close he was to carrying out what he had dreamed of doing since the night he was turned. So close he was to avenging Lavinia, to mitigating the anguish that Carlisle was responsible for. But Mary would not back down – she wanted to do it for him. She was just as willing to kill as he had been. His determination was now hers.

Reluctantly, he climbed off of Sir Richard, giving Mary space to stand beside the injured monster. Sir Richard’s eyes passed over the dagger, and this time there was no mistaking the fear in them. He tried to speak, but his words were hard to form and nearly incomprehensible.

“You … dare … kill?” Blood gurgled from his mouth.

Mary kneeled down and positioned the dagger point a hair’s width away from his throat. She did not shy away from his mangled figure. Sir Richard did not like the unyielding expression on her face; she looked twice as demonic now.

“I … could … make … you … hap-py,” he choked out.

“After everything you’ve done, I doubt we’d make each other happy,” Mary countered.

Sir Richard’s struggle to speak was a losing battle. “You … can-not … k-kill me … it won’t be … the … end.”

“I will,” Mary said. “For all you have done to Matthew.”

Abruptly, a strained groan came from nearby. Lord Grantham, lying dangerously close, was stirring, Sir Richard’s hold on him breaking. His eyes fluttered open.

“M-Mary?” he murmured, having heard her voice.

His library appeared blurry in front of him, but he could just discern Matthew standing by Mary, who was kneeling beside Sir Richard. Mary was holding what he made out to be a very long dagger, poised above Sir Richard’s distorted throat. To his eyes there was little brightness in the room except for the fire, whose light illuminated tiny rubies here and there, right where everybody’s eyes ought to be.

“Wha’ is sis?” he slurred. His whole body quivered as he tried to right himself – was that _blood_ he was smelling so strongly?”

“Lord Grantham,” Matthew said, “stay down.” He knelt and mentally commanded Lord Grantham to lie still. He shuddered and his eyes closed quickly.

Matthew looked behind him at Mary and nodded. “Do it, now.”

Without hesitation, Mary drew the knife back, then drove it into Sir Richard. His body shook and twisted in chaotic convulsions, and Matthew rushed to pin his arms down. His shrieks were laced with angry words that no one could understand, his fangs champing and tearing at his lips. Mary did not falter, bravely continuing to cut through the muscle as Sir Richard howled. Her own hatred fuelled her instinct to kill; each time she thrust the blade into the gaping neck her passion exploded, the next blow even more overwhelming than the last.

Matthew gritted his teeth as he felt the imperceptible pain of Sir Richard’s annihilation, like a pinching at his throat. The connection between them was finally splintering. Blood spurted up and sprayed both him and Mary, but neither stalled in their task. As Mary unmercifully dissevered his head, Sir Richard’s writhing became more sporadic and jerky, his screeching more guttural, having lost the capability to speak. Lord Grantham lay on the floor, half-conscious, but somewhere in his mind he could hear the final screams of Sir Richard’s wrath.

A final slash, and the terrible act was done. The room went silent as a tomb.

The dagger fell from Mary’s shivering hands and she clambered away from the mutilated body. She watched as Sir Richard’s hateful face begin to waste away, the skin growing thin and grey as paper. His eyes went bloodshot and rolled back into his head. There was no peace on his face, even when lying dead.

“Mary.” Matthew held her shoulders, supporting her as she tried to calm herself.

“I’m fine,” she whispered. She wiped a red hand across her forehead, smearing the stray droplets across her skin. “It’s done now, right?”

Matthew nodded. “It’s done now.”

Both of them started as Robert and Cora began to stir. The stench of blood was even stronger now, and it drew them both out of their stupor within seconds. As Robert’s eyes flickered open again he saw, albeit indistinctly, Sir Richard’s severed head lying inches away from him.

“What the hell?” he bellowed. He scrabbled away.

Cora was unsteadily supporting herselfon the furniture as she clumsily made her way towards Robert. “What happened – there was a shadow … ”

Robert’s confusion was equal to his wife’s. He turned to Mary and Matthew, standing in front of the fire, and he gasped at what he saw.

The firelight shone on their stunned, pale faces. Their hands, clothes, and faces were drenched in dark blood, and so too was the ornamental dagger that Mary was holding. The rubies he had seen before were actually the hue of their eyes, he realized, a hue he had never seen in human irises. In their open mouths he could see nightmarish sharp fangs gleaming white in the dim glow.

“What in God’s name—?” he sputtered, reeling back. Cora was lost for words.

“Papa, please!” Mary exclaimed. “It’s only me.”

There was a crumbling noise, and all looked down to watch Sir Richard’s dismembered body disintegrate, turning to colourless fragments. It diminished to nothing in a matter of seconds, leaving behind only his spilled blood and a coating of ash on the carpet.

Matthew’s eyes met Mary’s, and they were apprehensive. “I suppose there’s only one thing we can do now,” he said softly. He turned back to Lord and Lady Grantham.

 


	12. Beyond Death

Given the fact that Lord and Lady Grantham had just been held spellbound by a vampire, watched his mutilated body crumble to dust, and learnt that their eldest daughter and the heir to the estate were also vampires, Matthew thought the both of them were taking it rather well. At least, they hadn’t reached for their wooden stakes so far.

As Mary and Matthew explained the entire situation, from Mary’s ‘illness’ to the final confrontation with Carlisle, Robert and Cora sat petrified, their eyes widening with every word spoken. Cora’s jaw dropped when Matthew told them the truth about Evelyn Napier’s death. All the while Mary shook, bracing herself for any severities her parents decided to toss at her – but to her relief, there was nothing.

When the two of them fell silent, not even Robert knew how to react. He was still alarmed by the sight before him – he had never seen so much blood in front of him since his days at war – and every rational cell in his being was in disbelief that either of them were undead. But the proof presented itself when Mary held out her hand, and there was not a pulse to be felt. They were sincere in every word: the blurry vision of Sir Richard leaning towards him, a dull pain, then seeing Mary kneeling above Carlisle holding a knife, and especially witnessing a disintegration were not elements of a joke.

“All this time, you were really – this,” he waved his hand, “and you never thought to say so?”

“Would you have believed me, if I had?” Matthew asked.

“Well, I believe you now,” Robert said.

Matthew viewed Lord Grantham with a heedful eye. “And now that you know what we are — are you afraid of us?”

Robert stood and said, “My dear fellow, we all have chapters that we’d rather keep unpublished. Though what I have just learnt has shocked me to the core, it has not altered how I think of you, of either of you.”

A sob shook Mary, and Robert stepped forward to embrace her warmly. Relief quickly spread over Matthew.

“I still don’t understand something,” Robert said to Matthew, after a profound silence. “You were born in the sixteenth century, correct? How is it that you’ve been named the heir of this estate?”

Matthew could not provide a straight answer to that. “I’m afraid I don’t understand it myself,” he confessed. “A misunderstanding, or the wrong lineage chart, I expect.”

“It’s quite the mix-up,” Robert chuckled. “But even so, I’m not eager to figure out who the actual heir is – it would raise too many questions, and besides, I’ve grown used to having you here at Downton. So I hope you won’t consider leaving simply because I know your secret.”

Matthew smiled gratefully and glanced over at Mary. “Believe me, Lord Grantham, I could never dream of leaving now.”

* * *

 

The servants were waking up from their trances, but Mary and Matthew easily eluded them as they went to clean themselves. By the time Matthew hurried on his way home, most had gone to bed seeing as it was long past time anyone should be up. He wondered with amusement how any of them would explain each of them falling asleep standing up and then waking up with hardly and memory as to what happened to them.

He slipped into his house, disturbing nothing, feeling very tired and thirsty. Although he had fed before leaving London, he had exerted the strength he had gained into defeating Carlisle. He decided he could ignore his thirst for one more night, and instead thought about how much had happened in the span of a single day: he had played his part in destroying two powerful vampires, as well as told Lord Grantham what he really was. Frankly, he had not believed he would get out of any of it alive. It seemed unreal that he was still in once piece; Kemal and Sir Richard could have easily taken off his head with their bare hands at any moment.

It would not have mattered, however, had he been killed, as long as Mary was safe. He had been so frightened that Kemal would take control of her, use her to his will; his fear had turned to wrath which had given him the power to vanquish him. It had been both luck and strength that the worst had not happened.

And what had transpired with Sir Richard – the invisible chains that had bound Matthew to him were broken. After the one who had turned him decayed to ash, his power had grown in a matter of minutes. No doubt the same thing occurred with Mary, but as she was still young she’d have less of a restraint on her abilities. Her incredible courage in slicing off Carlisle’s head had been a result of that. Matthew decided to let her have a few days to recover from her ordeal before teaching her not to break everything she touched.

The moon was suspended high in the night sky; it cast its light on Matthew’s smile. How strange it was to think about the previous bitterness between the two of them when now even the thought of Mary made him happy.

He went back to the bed and reached below it, pulling the coffin out from underneath. Raising the ebony lid, he climbed inside and closed himself off from any light of the outside world.

If he could still dream, his dreams would be filled with fantasies of the life he would now share with Mary.

* * *

 

In the morning, several explanations, albeit weak ones, had to be given for the bizarre events that had materialized at Downton.

The servants could only conclude that their shared hypnotic state and lapse in memory was the result of some spoiled ingredient in the lamb stew they had eaten for their dinner (an accusation which Mrs Patmore vehemently denied). Only Anna had been told the truth by Lady Mary, but shedid relay to the other staff that such an incident was not likely to occur twice.

Dr Clarkson came for Sybil early in the morning. He administered bed rest for several days and plenty of fluids; seeing as the ‘fox bite’ Sybil had suffered from carried no toxins, she could remain in her home. Edith was ordered to rest as well, though she was not as poorly off as Sybil, only shaken up from the torture Kemal Pamuk had inflicted upon her. Tom Branson found accommodations at the Grantham Arms, and he insisted he would not leave until Sybil was well again. Naturally, he removed himself from Lady Rosamund’s service.

As for the mysterious matter of the girls vanishing in the night, no newspaper had gotten word of it, so few details were given to the staff. The concocted story was that Mary and Sybil had been abducted from their beds and held for ransom, hidden somewhere in the woods (to explain Sybil’s ‘fox bite’), but the kidnappers had lost their nerve and set them free. As for Edith, she returned to London on account that she was coming down with a fever.

When Robert opened the _Times_ a few days later, he was greeted with  an article dictating the disappearances of Kemal Pamuk and Sir Richard Carlisle. He could not help but grin amusedly. This would be one mystery that the police would have no hope of solving, and now the identity of Evelyn Napier’s murderer would never be determined as well.

The paper was not the only thing he found curious. Everything that had happened that day – Sybil and Mary vanishing from their bedrooms, getting attacked by Sir Richard, seeing him beheaded on the library floor, and learning both Mary and Matthew were, of all things, vampires – it all seemed something out of a novel. Robert knew he’d never look at either of them the same way again; the image of them standing soaked in blood, revealed as the mythical beings that they were, was imprinted forever in his memory. Nevertheless, he did not for a moment doubt their promise: they would never hurt anyone in this family.

Now that her parents knew about her vampirism, Mary felt less reticent than she had in recent weeks. The burden of her insatiable thirst, however, had not lessened much. That was the part of her lifestyle that she still needed to get used to. She was meaning to talk to Mama and Papa about her feeding off of Anna – they needed to pay her a little more if she was going to serve as a nightcap to Mary.

Anna was not the only one to quell Mary’s hunger: she was now taking her hunt to the village. She’d learnt from Matthew how to keep her victims asleep, and so she did not fear hearing their cries as she fed. She felt the same way Matthew did when he consumed a human’s blood: she loved the sweetness that flowed from her victim's neck, but she could not help but wonder what they were experiencing as Mary satisfied her craving, if it was ignorant bliss or dreamlike anguish.

Whenever she had a moment alone to herself, to contemplate, more often than not Mary found herself thinking about Matthew.

There were two sides to him: there was her father’s heir who came to dinner every other night, who lived in the village, who talked and laughed beside her, whose eyes were like pale sapphires.

Then there was his more frightening self, who lived off of human blood, who had needle-sharp fangs and claws, who had unexpectedly revealed himself to her in a dark hour, who fought with feral tenacity for her sake, whose irises were a brilliant red.

Yet, Mary admitted to herself, she decided she loved him no matter if his eyes were blue or red. There was little difference between the guises, save for physical appearance, merely two sides to the same enchanting coin.

Her attraction to him was unlike what she had felt with Kemal. With Pamuk it had been lust, based only on appearances and yearning for excitement. But with Matthew – he had come to her rescue when she did not know what to do, taking her under his wing when all she had given him previously was disdain and ridicule. And all those times she had been alone with him had only intensified the feelings she never realized she could possess. He had fought for her, and she for him.

To think that she had fallen irrefutably in love – Mary couldn't believe herself. Perhaps she had loved him longer than she knew.

* * *

 

Life at Downton resumed as it normally did for the most part. Dinners and parties were held as winter and Christmas drew nearer. Rumours of snow swirled closer as grey skies and brisk winds turned daily.

This night, there was the routine dinner party, and as always Mary felt little attraction towards any of the unremarkable guests. Her frostiness was assuaged only by Matthew’s presence in the gathering, always the one she turned to when all the other men exhausted her. Tonight, she was only able to talk to him undisturbed in the drawing room, when her father was kept busy with his other dinner guests.

“I’m sure you’ve heard that Tom Branson is officially staying at Downton,” she said.

Matthew nodded. “As the new chauffeur. How did Sybil take that news?”

“Actually, I think she’s secretly pleased,” Mary smiled deviously. “She might have a slight crush on him.”

“And how do you know that, pray?”

“She couldn’t take her eyes off of him when he drove us to Ripon this morning. Not for a single moment.” Mary brought her voice lower so no one would unwittingly hear them. “It’s a bit silly of her to be that smitten with someone who was directly responsible for her anaemia.”

Matthew had to laugh at this, and Mary joined in.

As it happened, Mary was comparatively curious about Matthew’s life before his coming to Downton. She wanted to know how he had lived when he was human – after all, he had survived one of the most brutal parts of English history relatively unscathed – and then afterwards, passing quietly through the centuries. And for a long while she had wanted to ask him about Lavinia. What she had learnt about her downfall could not possibly be the entire story. So what was she like when Matthew first met her? How did he fall in love with her? Or possibly, as she feared, was he still—?

Mary scolded herself: if there was practical thing she had learnt from her governesses, it was that it was insensitive and rude to ask intrusive questions. She would not reopen the wound.

“You can just ask me,” Matthew said.

Mary looked at him in surprise, then laughed at herself, embarrassed. “I forgot you can do that.”

His ice-blue eyes seemed to stare right into her, though not in a threatening way. “You want to know about Lavinia?”

Mary chewed on her lip, and she nodded. “What was she like? Before – before she was taken?”

Matthew looked towards something across the room, losing himself in memories long concealed. “She was kind,” he began slowly, “and beautiful. A bit naïve, though. But she had a good heart and so many adored her. I think you would have got on well with her.”

He smiled, and his eyes did not seem so pained as they often were when recalling the past. “I loved her with all my heart. When she was with me, she never caused a moment’s sorrow. She could never stand to see someone unhappy.”

“And do you still love her?” Mary asked him carefully.

Matthew’s expression turned sombre, and Mary wondered if she had been too forward.

He said, after a pause, “I had not thought of her for a long time, actually. When I killed her I was mad with guilt for what I had done, and after Carlisle turned me I could not bear to remember even the happier moments. They were reminders of what I had lost, what I could never regain. So I convinced myself to put it all behind me, to let it fade from my memory, so it would not hurt me any longer.”

“Do you still love her?” Mary asked again.

Matthew looked around the room, but no one was paying them any attention. “Come with me,” he said quietly, taking her hand.

They both stole outdoors, unnoticed by anyone. Snow was coming down steadily from the moonless sky, and already the grass was dusted with a sparkling white. Neither of them felt the chill of the air around them.

“I loved her,” Matthew said, “but it would be pointless to keep myself bound to her as if she were still alive. We’ve avenged her, and surely her soul must be at peace now. Besides, I know she would want us to be happy.”

Mary nodded. “I agree.”

She leaned her head back, aware of the tiny wet snowflakes glancing off her face. “Matthew, it sounds strange – but since I died, since we’ve grown closer, I feel more alive than I ever thought I could be.”

Matthew smiled tenderly. “I’ve felt the same. When I met you … I finally found a real reason to live. And with what we’ve been through, somehow I think it was meant to be.”

“But if Kemal had never come, if I had never been turned, could we still have come together?” It was a question that Mary doubted there was a definite answer to.

“I don’t know. In time, perhaps,” Matthew said. “

“I think so too,” Mary said. “I’m only sorry you had wait a few hundred years for a reason. If I had known, I would have asked to be born earlier.”

Matthew laughed softly. “It was worth waiting all those years to meet you.”

“Then I shan’t make you wait any longer,” Mary said.

She kissed him, gently but passionately, her heart near to bursting with exhilaration. To have fallen in love, and to have the feelings returned, was more than she could have hoped for. Matthew held her in his close embrace, the fervour of their kiss filling his body with a warmth he never imagined he would ever feel. For the first time in so many harsh, lonely years, he was standing with the woman he loved in his arms, who would be with him until the end of time.

It did not matter that they were bloodthirsty vampires, living forever as creatures of the night. It did not matter that they’d retain youth as they watched the rest of the Crawleys age and die. Eternity in the darkness no longer haunted them, now that they had somebody to share it with.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly hope you enjoyed reading this! To be honest, I'm no good at romance, and I think I tend to go overboard with the classical language (I read too many 19th century novels – Bram Stoker's Dracula obviously not being excluded), but I do hope this was entertaining anyway.


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